Silence
by Elenluin
Summary: The boss never talks about the war, Havoc rightly observes. Or at least not to him. For years Mustang has had a goal, but now that someone he trusts has taken the position of Fuhrer, things have gotten less urgent and that gives him all the more time to think. His friends worry- even if they should know by now that Mustang has his own agenda. Set post-promised day.
1. 1 - A celebration (Havoc)

Havoc stared at his beer. They were out to celebrate the first time he had succeeded in walking the full distance of the therapy room without help. Breda had been there when he had made it, and had been so happy that he instantly had called the others to join them for a drink.

He had been truly tired from the exercise, and all he really had wanted was to go home and rest, but he couldn't say no to his friends. Not when they all seemed so enthusiast and happy for him as they did today.

However that was hours ago, and he felt exhausted now. They were sitting at the brown weathered counter of Madam Christmas' new bar. Somehow this place felt old and familiar, even though she hadn't owned it for more than a few months at most. With a sigh he took another sip of the now lukewarm beer. Next to him, Hawkeye and Breda were deeply engaged in a conversation on dog food while the boss was sitting on the other side of the duo, apparently lost in his own thoughts. Brigadier General Mustang. He had been promoted recently, and they all had been more than happy to see him get one step closer to his goal, but he did not seem overly content with the rise in the ranks. Not as they had expected him to be.

Apparently the boss felt his look, for he turned towards Jean and raised a questioning eyebrow. Havoc nodded wearily and Mustang rose and came to stand near him. "Want to go home?"

Havoc downed his pint of beer. "Please, I'm spent."

"That I can see. Come, let me support you, I'll take you home in my car." Mustang smirked as he helped him rise. Havoc felt how his legs trembled and buckled under his own weight. How foolish of him to come to a place like this after such a tiring day. His mother would kill him if she found out that he had once again overexerted himself.

"Lean on me, Havoc. I'll carry you if I have to. I owe you that much." It was said in such a low voice that Havoc did not even knew if he understood correctly. He threw a sideway glance at his superior, only to find Mustang staring ahead of him, his face perfectly unmoved while he adjusted the position of his arm until Havoc felt his legs relieved of most of his weight.

Breda and Hawkeye looked up "Are you going to be okay?" Breda sounded slightly guilty. Great, he must look like crap for his friend to react this way.

"I'll be fine, the boss is going to take me home."

"You bet I am. See you tomorrow Hawkeye, don't be late." Mustang almost dragged him out, and Havoc stole a glance at the first lieutenant. She gave a small nod to their superior, and it was only then that he remembered that Hawkeye and Mustang were leaving the day after. Ishval. They were going back there for the first time in years, to see what was needed to restore the land again.

Guiltily Havoc realised that they had both sacrificed their last night in the city hanging out with him in a bar. "Sir, I'm sorry, had I realised you were leaving tomorrow, I wouldn't have asked…"

Mustang opened his car and helped him to sit on the front seat. "Nonsense. Everything is ready, there was nothing else I had to do tonight."

Havoc leaned his head against the headrest and remained silent throughout the whole ride home. There were many things he wanted to ask the man next to him. About why he was so morose lately, if it had anything to do with the war. He could only guess how his boss felt about going back to the place he had helped destruct, but he did not dare ask. As far as he remembered, he had never heard Mustang speak about his time in Ishval. It wasn't that he had kept the role he played there a secret, not while the whole country talked about the feats of the Flame alchemist, just that he had left the answering of all the questions to the lieutenant instead.

Once arrived, the boss supported him into the house, and would have neatly delivered him in his bedroom, had he allowed it. Instead, he shooed his superior away and watched from his living room's couch how the car turned and left his street.

But wait, wasn't Mustang living the other way?

Puzzled, Havoc started to make the long and difficult way up the stairs. Tomorrow he would try to find out where the boss had gone to, if not home.


	2. 2 - The bar (Breda)

Breda jumped off his stool when he saw how the General almost had to carry Havoc to his car. A hand on his shoulder held him back.

"Leave them." Hawkeye's voice sounded soft but firm.

He turned back to her. "It's my fault he…"

"Leave them be. They will be fine." Riza's voice seemed far off. She was staring in the distance, through the glass pane of the bar's door, as if she wished to follow the departing figure of the Brigadier General all the way to his car with her regard.

With a sigh Heymans Breda slumped back on his stool. "Do you want another drink, or shall we go home too?"

"Let's stay for a little longer." Hawkeye was fumbling with the napkin which one of the girls -Daisy or Jennifer, he couldn't quite remember their names- had put underneath the little bowl of nuts that had accompanied their earlier order of beers. It was a gesture that told him how stressed she was.

He gestured for the girl - Daisy, he was sure it was Daisy – to bring them two more beers and put his hand on Hawkeye's lower arm. "What is amiss? Is it about tomorrow?" She hid it well, but he liked to think that he knew her better than anyone else. Except for the boss of course, but that was an entirely different matter. Yet still, tonight she did not follow Mustang, despite her obvious wish to do so. There definitely was something going on.

She hesitated and let go of the now wrinkled napkin as the two beers arrived. When Daisy had gone to her next customer, she quietly answered his question. "No, not tomorrow. Or perhaps it is. Knowing that we are heading back to that place doesn't help for sure."

"Then what is the matter?" He knew better than to press things, but he couldn't leave her like this. Hawkeye was the strong one, the one they all relied on. Upset was just an emotion he never associated with her. Not unless _he_ was involved. Breda almost cursed, but saw that she was opening her mouth to say something and bit his lip instead.

"You've seen it too, haven't you?" She took a sip of her beer and pensively stared at the wet rings that the glass left behind on the brown wooden counter. "I'm worried about the General. Some days I think I am imagining things, but then I see him stare through the window for hours at end, without signing a single report."

Breda snorted, "Hawkeye, he has been doing that for years. It is why you agreed to be his adjutant, remember? If Mustang had been left to his own devices, he would have been fired for laziness years ago."

She shook her head. "That's not true, and you know it. Sure he likes to pretend he is a lazy good-for-nothing womanizer, but you know as well as I do that it is part of the façade he puts up when other people are around. I'm not saying that he enjoys the paperwork, but he damn well knows why he has to do it and in all these years, I've never seen him behave like this."

He was surprised at her language. She usually was so well in control of herself, but now things seemed to slip. Breda hesitated for a moment. Perhaps the General wasn't the only one acting differently since the Promised day. For a while Havoc and he had hoped that the events would bring the Lieutenant and the General closer together, but after the emotions had settled down, they had quickly gone back to their usual distant, professional behaviour. Perhaps now even more so than ever. Still there were moments like these, when Hawkeye couldn't hide her concerns, when she admitted that she cared for the General more than for anything else in the world, even to her friends. Somehow while things had been quite the opposite once, it was Mustang who now kept treating her as a comrade in arms, a relied friend, but nothing more. He sighed, why would those two make things so damn complicated? "Well, if you don't know what is going on in his mind, then surely I don't either." The words came out with a streak of irritation that surprised himself.

She straightened her back and put her hands in her lap. "You are right. I should ask him. Probably best that I go after him."

"I don't think that's a wise idea." Breda again put his hand on her arm. She tensed for a moment, but then deflated again. When she turned her face towards him, he was surprised to see that she was on the brink of tears. He patted her arm. "You can ask him tomorrow, when you're both sober and well rested. The journey to Ishval will take a while and you will have all the time in the world to talk to him. I'm sure he's fine, Riza. Things haven't been this quiet in years."

"Perhaps you are right, perhaps I'm seeing ghosts. Truth is that I'm not used to 'quiet'"

A small smile crossed her face, and he thought that she was right, none of them were used to this. They were all still trying to find their place in a world where peace was a reality, rather than a far-fetched dream.

Breda decided that she shouldn't walk home on her own, not on a night like this. He called the girl over to put the check on Mustang's tab, it was only fair that the highest in rank paid, and handed Riza her overcoat. Together they started to make their way along the empty streets of Central City. Inevitably, their path led by the house where Mustang lived and he more felt than saw her hesitation when they walked by.

"His car isn't here, he must have stayed with Havoc." Breda spoke the words. She was doubtlessly thinking the same thing and he'd rather have it out in the open.

"No, I think he went somewhere else." Again that sad smile. For a moment he wanted to ask where the General went to, but then realisation hit him. There really was only one spot where he could be on a night like this, before he would leave town on a mission that would take him away for at least a month.


	3. 3 - The Cemetery (Riza)

She saw the realisation dawn in Breda's eyes. Truth was, she had noticed that Roy had wanted to be alone even before they had gone to the bar. It must have been that he had not wanted to disappoint his subordinates or that his happiness about Havoc's progress was greater than the exhaustion that she could so clearly see in his face.

As the evening had progressed, he had withdrawn more and more in himself, until Havoc had given him an excuse to leave. It pained her that he did not seem to trust her anymore to rescue him out of such a situation.

She drew her mantle closer around her shoulders. It was the start of summer, and while the days were warm, the nights were still chilly. "You know, Heymans, you should go home. I'll be fine. I'll just go for a short stroll before I go to bed."

He looked at her with clear scepticism, but did not protest "Very well, I'll be at the station tomorrow to see you off. If you need me to help you carry your luggage, give me a call in the morning."

She could not supress a chuckle. "I won't be taking much. I'll manage, but thank you. The train is leaving around noon."

"I will be there." His hand squeezed her shoulder in goodbye before he disappeared in the night. He was a good man, trying his best to keep Havoc motivated, and now trying to cheer her up when he thought she needed it. It was why she liked him, why she trusted him, but this she had to do alone.

Breda had been right, she should speak with Roy and she had a good idea on where she would find him. Firmly she changed direction, away from her apartment.

Half an hour later, she found his lonely parked car before the entrance of the cemetery.

It was dark, but in the east the first light was appearing, and she knew her way here as well as anyone. She saw his lonely figure soon enough. He was just standing there, staring at Maes' tombstone, reminding her of how she had found him after the funeral.

With a sigh she approached him. "Sir, I think it's time to leave."

For a moment she thought he wouldn't answer. That he'd just ignore her and pretend she wasn't there.

"Go home, Lieutenant, and sleep now you still can. There's nothing for you here."

"Nor for you, sir. You too should get a few hours of rest before we leave." She wouldn't back off, not now. His back straightened, but still he did not face her. She had an idea on why he would not look her in the eyes. He needed her here, even if his words spoke differently.

"You are far too stubborn. Again proof of why you deserve that promotion to captain, Hawkeye. You will have to accept it. Grumman has signed the papers. We will make it public when we return."

"I suppose I will have no say in this, sir?" She stared at the ground. They had been through this before. She had failed to protect her superior, and even if everyone tried to convince her that it wasn't so, she still felt that way. She did not want to get rewarded once again for failing to do the right thing.

She could hear him take a deep breath, and noticed how he casually brushed his sleeve over his still averted face before he turned to her. After everything that had happened to them, after all they had done, he had always managed to keep his cool. Only at that funeral had he allowed his self-control to slip, and only in front of her. She had taken it as a compliment then, that he had trusted her enough to allow her to see his distress. It hadn't lasted.

"No, Hawkeye, you won't." His expression was unreadable as he faced her. "Now as to why you came to find me. Does it bother you, that we have to go back to Ishval? If so, I can still arrange for you to stay here."

"No sir. I merely came to see if you needed my assistance." She shivered again. She was tired and longed for her bed, but she would not let him down.

His countenance softened a little. "You are cold Lieutenant. You should go home. Let me drop you off. I am ready here." It was a small victory, but at least she had gotten him to leave.

In silence they walked towards his car, and in silence he drove her home. When she stepped out of his car, she hesitated with the door in her hand. He turned at her and raised a questioning eyebrow. "Goodnight, Lieutenant. I hope you will be able to catch at least a few hours of sleep."

"You too, sir." She softly replied and some of the worry she felt must have leaked through in her voice, or else he could still read her while she seemed to have lost that ability, for he sighed and pinched his nose in what seemed defeat.

"I don't think that I will. Sleep does not come easy lately. It will improve when I am back in the East."

She wanted to say that she highly doubted that he would sleep better in the heat of the East in this time of the year, but held her tongue. Perhaps Breda had been right, perhaps she should discuss all of this another time. "Goodnight sir, I hope tonight will be different then at least."

He nodded and she closed the car door.

She went up the stairs, opened the door to her apartment and turned on the light. Glancing through the window she just saw how the lights of his car disappeared behind a corner. He had waited for her to be safe inside then. He still cared, she did not doubt that, never had. It was just that he was not himself lately. He shut everyone out, even his friends.

Well, she would have plenty of time to try and pry the real reason out of him on their way to Ishval.


	4. 4 - Train station (Havoc)

When Breda rang his doorbell just before noon, Havoc had long noticed that he would not be able to repeat his achievement of the previous day anytime soon. Even walking with his crutches proved painful and straining, so when he opened the door sitting in his wheelchair, he was in a foul mood.

"Want to come and wave the General and Hawkeye goodbye?"

He grumbled. "And how would I get to the train station?"

Breda shrugged and pointed with his thumb over his shoulder. "Armstrong let me lend his car, I figured that you wouldn't be able to walk all the way after last night."

With a huff, Havoc wheeled himself back into the hallway and grasped his keys from the table. "Seems like you won't let me escape. At least take my crutches, will you."

A wide smile adorned Breda's face as he helped him close the door. "Of course. Come on! I'll throw them on the back seat, then the chair can go in the trunk."

On the way to the station, Breda was uncommonly silent. Havoc drummed his fingers on the inside of the car door in an erratic rhythm. When even that did not provoke a reaction, his patience ran out. "What is it Heymans? Something bothering you? I thought you wanted company, but you haven't said a word since we left."

His friend sighed, "Sorry. I was just thinking about last night. The General wasn't home when we passed by his house, and now Hawkeye is even more worried."

So he had been right, he had had a different destination than his house. "Did you find out where he did go then?"

Breda pulled a sour face while he turned onto the square of Central's rail station. "Come on, where does Mustang go on a nightly excursion if not to Madam Christmas' bar?"

"Ah." Havoc stared out of the window. He could see Hawkeye's slender figure standing in front of the railway entrance. Perfect posture in her perfectly ironed uniform as always, but no sign of the General yet. He saw a parking spot, but Breda, worked up as he was, just drove by and had to stop abruptly to let a pedestrian cross the street.

"Yes, 'Ah'. You see why Hawkeye is worried? He hasn't done that for months. Not since he got his sight back."

Havoc pointed one row ahead. "There's a free space over there." He paused a moment, then continued. "I don't see why you would worry about something so trivial though. The boss has a right to visit his friend's grave whenever he wants."

"Perhaps." There was a silence while they parked the car and Breda sighed again while he turned off the contact. At the same time, a military car stopped in front of the station's entrance, and from Hawkeye's impeccable salute, he guessed that the Brigadier General had arrived with the soldiers that would accompany them East. Now that Mustang was promoted, those two would not be allowed to travel alone anymore. An escort would be unavoidable.

It irked him that it wasn't him that led the General's bodyguard. The others had scattered across the continent, Fuery South and Falman North, and Heymans even out of the military entirely, but he somehow believed, no, he _knew_, that if he had still been there to lead their field ops, he would have managed to bring them back and keep them together. It was his fault that the boss now had to travel with a bunch of half-baked soldiers fresh from military school, rather than his own trusted team. If he only had been a little more alert during that attack, if he had not been taken so unaware by her claws through his spine, none of them would be in this messed-up situation.

"Get my crutches, I'm not going to face them in my wheelchair." He glared at Breda, who obviously wanted to say something about how unwise that would be, but who also closed his mouth as soon as he saw just how angry he was.

He hobbled towards his friends, Breda hoovering close behind him like a mother hen. Really, he appreciated his friend's concern and his way of driving him forward during this painful revalidation, but sometimes he wished he could just be treated like an equal again. They had known each other since military school and both retired as second lieutenants, there was no reason why…

_BANG_

He had barely arrived on the sidewalk, but the loud sound made him drop his crutches and shove Breda down to the ground in an instant. He ignored the excruciating pain in his legs as he landed on his knees, but made sure he pushed Breda behind his back. Damn, if he only would have had his gun. Those young soldiers that were standing around the General didn't even move! Had they lost their minds?

_bang_

It sounded softer now. Looking around, he found that Mustang was in a similar position as him. The boss was sitting on one knee, his one hand ready to snap, his other holding Hawkeye firmly down to the ground while he scanned the environment.

Their eyes met.

Realisation dawned for both of them in that same instant.

They had been startled by the exhaust of a faulty car.

The soldiers were hurrying towards the General, obviously concerned. Havoc took a deep breath and turned back to Breda who was lying on his back beside him.

"I… I'm sorry, Heymans. It's just…" He was too ashamed to say what he really meant to. How often as cadets had they laughed with soldiers who had returned from the war and had reacted just like _this_? He wasn't laughing anymore, that was for sure.

Breda was already getting up, and offered his hand to help him stand too. "Don't mention it. I get it, we all get jittery sometimes. Seems like Hawkeye is telling the General the same thing.

True enough the boss was briefly apologising to Hawkeye who dismissed his excuses with a move of her hand. It struck Havoc that while this senseless reaction to something so trite was a first for him, it might be different for those two. Mustang had not earned his title of 'hero of Ishval' sitting by a desk, and Hawkeye had not always been the adjutant to a high-ranking officer. He knew that, they all did, but rarely did they think about what that truly meant. What their past really had been like.

He took his crutches from Heymans and made his way towards his friends.

"Sorry about that, sir. I should have noticed it was a car. Shouldn't have given you the wrong impression." He didn't even bother to greet them first.

Mustang shrugged and smiled, "Not the first time this happened to me. Won't be the last either. No harm done." Despite his casual words, Havoc could see how furious the boss was with himself. Within moments the anger was gone from Mustang's eyes, and his expression was composed again, but Jean had seen what he had seen. There was no one as judging about the actions of General Mustang as the General himself. It was why the boss learned so quickly from his mistakes, it was what drove him ever forward. Sometimes Havoc felt that Mustang just used Hawkeye to yell at him for things he already felt bad about in the first place.

"Jean?" It was Hawkeye in her soft but decisive voice, and he turned around to face her.

"Really, I'm fine Lieutenant."

She looked over his shoulder, and he just knew she had shared a look with the boss. "Talk about this to someone while we are gone, will you? You've been through a lot lately and sometimes it takes a little help to leave these things behind you. This thing that just happened…" She hesitated a moment before she continued, "it gets so much harder when you wait too long."

He resisted the urge to start laughing out loud. Just see who's talking, he wanted to say, as if he needed the help more than they did. But then he saw the sadness in her face when she stared once again over his shoulder, and he understood.


	5. 5 - The East (Riza)

She felt guilty that she had to leave Jean behind in such a state, but the train was departing and there was no time for elaborate goodbyes. Their escort had made sure that the luggage was aboard, not that they had taken much with them. This was only supposed to be a three to four-week trip to see how the Brigadier General wanted to approach the reconciliation with the people of Ishval. It was crystal clear though that Grumman's true intention was to move Roy into the Eastern command centre as the Commanding Office and the only reason why that was not official yet, was because Roy himself had asked for a careful approach. He wanted to gain the trust of the Ishvalan people before being put in that position, and she wholeheartedly agreed.

She sighed as she took her place in the first-class compartment of the train. Roy was already sitting near the window, staring at the people on the platform instead of reading the report that was resting on his lap. "So, Lieutenant, is all in order?"

She did not miss how his gaze did not leave Havoc, who had followed them all the way up, despite the many stairs to conquer to get here. So he worried too. If only he would worry a little more about himself… But no, she knew why he hid again behind his care for his former subordinates. Roy hated it when someone saw his weaknesses, and with what had happened earlier, he must be in a foul mood. She had long learned that in such times there was nothing she could do or say that would help him. If she brought it up now, it would make things infinitely worse. "Yes sir, the sergeant has been briefed on what we expect from him, and he is positioning his men as we requested."

"Very well. We don't want a repeat of the Hakuro incident, do we."

"No sir." It would be highly unlikely to see that repeated when it was them aboard the train. To say the least, Roy Mustang was somewhat more skilled at combat than Hakuro had ever been, and she was there too. However, by mentioning the incident, Roy at least told her that he was as uneasy about their return east as she was. It was a relief that they could still communicate with so little words.

The train started moving, and she waved back at Breda, a smile creeping onto her face. He would take good care of Jean, no doubt about that. Havoc did not stand a chance if Heymans decided that he would have to find help to do something about his fears. Breda could be a bastard at times, especially when the well-being of his friends was concerned. Meanwhile Roy seemed suddenly engrossed in the report. Her smile broadened. Some things never changed; he had never been good at goodbyes.

The journey was uneventful, but somehow the young sergeant that led the General's bodyguard managed to keep her occupied anyway. His requests were all reasonable and well-considered, and she could not say no to them. At least it made time pass quickly, and Roy did not seem to mind being alone. He actually got some work done for a change. Perhaps she needed him to take more of these journeys. Here in an isolated train cabin without any distractions, he went through his to-do pile at amazing speed.

When they arrived in East city, she joined the sergeant to the dorms, while Roy went to his apartment. He had never sold it, and somehow she thought he had always known that he would return here, where it all began.

The next days were filled with inspection tours, and many, many interviews with Ishvalan survivors. The General had insisted that Major Miles would be the one to select those that he spoke with, and as it was, they were faced with a mix of people ranging from notable religious leaders to simple housewives who came to testify about what the loss of their sons and daughters had done to their families.

"Sir." She was standing near the door, making sure that no one would disturb the General when he was talking to one of the survivors. "The next man is here to see you." She flipped her bundle of papers to the next page and read the brief summary that the Major had left her as an introduction. "His name is Gary and it says here that he has lost his wife and son in the attacks, but survived himself despite being gravely wounded." She read a few more sentences and steeled herself for the next part. "It says that he was tortured in the hospital, sir."

Roy nodded. She could see how this was wearing him out, how all these stories touched and hurt him, but he had never avoided the pain of being confronted with what they had done.

She went into the hallway to pick up the man that had been announced. As soon as she set eye on him, she knew this was going to be a difficult one.

She gently opened the door again and let him in, trying to ignore his maimed hand and the wrinkled skin of his arm, the burn marks that covered more than half of his face and skull, his missing eye. He had been torched. There was no other word for it, and she knew very well who was likely responsible for the state he was in.

She walked to the stack of papers waiting on her desk. She would take notes of each and every one of these interviews so that the General could re-read them in the evening. He would then summarize them and organise them by category. Lost their property, lost a wife, lost a child, maimed in an attack, tortured by the army. The stacks were all equally depressing.

"Lieutenant. Leave us."

He did not even look at her but the tone of his voice was clear enough, not a hint of his usual playfulness present. There would be no arguing about this one. With a nod she made her way out. When the door closed behind her, she leaned against it for a moment, head resting against the polished wood, eyes closed. Why on earth had Miles picked this civilian? Was he taunting them?

She regained her composure and straightened her back, walking towards the officers' mess. She got herself a coffee and slumped down at a table, worried to death about what was going on in that room.

It wasn't long before Major Miles himself came in. "Ah Lieutenant, how are things going?"

She did not answer immediately. She had to keep herself from glaring at him and fought to maintain her composure. She wanted to shout at him, possibly even shoot him, but he was her superior and she had to remain professional. However, something of her feelings must have leaked through, for he shoved back a chair and came to sit across her. Calmly he removed his sunglasses and put them between them on the table.

"What is the matter lieutenant? If looks could kill, I would be long dead, I think. How did I offend you?"

"You did not, sir." She could not look him in the eye, but willed her hands to stop trembling. She clenched her cup and resisted the urge to take out her gun to disassemble and clean it, just to give them something to do.

"Lieutenant," the Major sounded patient but firm, "what has happened? I am not used to seeing you so distressed."

"The General just sent me out of the room when an interview was about to start, sir. That is all. I think he shouldn't have."

"And why is that?" Again that patient voice. "Who is in there that he wanted to speak to in private?"

She shoved the bundle of papers across the table, pointing at the name of Gary, while she looked up to face the Major. He threw one glance at the sheet and closed his eyes for a moment. Somehow he suddenly looked tired. "Ah, I see. I suppose you are mad at me for putting that one on the list?"

"No sir." In truth, she was not. He was just doing his job in collecting all possible witnesses of the war. It was just that she would have done anything to spare Roy from this particular confrontation.

Major Miles wryly smiled. "I don't really believe you, and I wouldn't really blame you either, if it really had been me who had sought him out."

"What do you mean, sir?" She kept her voice even, or as even as she could.

"That it was the General himself who asked to find people like him, Lieutenant. He expressly told me to include a number of victims of the fires, preferably those that afterwards ended up on Doctor Knox' tables. He was quite adamant about it, and forbade me to mention it to anyone."

"I see." She felt her stomach lurch. Why on earth was he torturing himself so? To face the consequences of the war was one thing, to deliberately seek out his own victims quite another.

The Major looked at her with some pity in those red eyes of his. "I'm sorry Lieutenant, there was little I could do about it. Even I have to follow orders sometimes." He paused a moment and seemed to take a decision. He shoved his chair back with a creaking sound. "Actually, I have some reports I had to give to the General. You stay here, I'll pass by his office." With a smooth gesture, he put his sunglasses back on his nose, and left her with her now cold coffee.

She let go of her breath. She had trusted the Major once, and perhaps she had been right at that after all… He would go and check on how Roy was doing.

She stayed in the mess for another fifteen minutes, and just when she found the tension unbearable and decided that she would go back to wait and keep watch before the General's door, she saw Major Miles appear at the entrance. He beckoned her to follow him, and quietly she stood up, putting her cup with the rest of the dishes. She went to his office with him, and only when the door closed, did he turn back to her.

"I thought it best to talk here, out of sight of the others."

"Yes, sir." She held her head high, her back straight, the tension in her muscles barely visible, but still there. Sweat was trickling along her spine. It was hot in the East, as it ever was in summer, and the turtleneck she always – always – wore under her uniform was making things even worse. Another reminder of that dreaded flame alchemy that had caused so much grief.

"Stand down, lieutenant." The Major's voice softened significantly. "Have a seat."

For a moment she hesitated, then sat down in the sofa that was in the middle of the Major's office. He came to sit down opposite her and again removed his sunglasses. "I have gone there and when I walked in, things were not as I had expected them to be."

"Sir?" She could not, would not say more. Did Roy have a breakdown? Did he do something foolish?

Major Miles looked her straight into the eyes. "The civilian was crying, and I found the General holding his hands between his own as he sat on his knees before him. I was clearly interrupting their conversation and so I quickly disappeared again, but I think he understood. He told me to cancel the last appointment on his schedule. He wants to speak to you at five sharp."

She nodded, so he was at least managing to keep his composure in front of the Ishvalan victim. It was a relief of sorts. And he wanted to see her after his afternoon break.

Major Miles scraped his throat. "I have to add that he also ordered me to return at four-thirty. If you want to stay here in the meantime, you are more than welcome, Lieutenant."

He wasn't telling her everything, she could see that, but it was all she was going to get. She would just have to wait until she could ask Roy herself. Riza shook her head. "No, sir. There are a few things I need to arrange."

The Major rose, indicating that she was free to leave, "Very well, Hawkeye. If there is anything I can help with, let me know."

"Yes, sir." She walked out of that office and decided she needed some fresh air. It was at least two more hours before Roy expected her back and she just wanted to speak to someone, someone she trusted, for an eerie suspicion started to form in her mind.

Walking along the main street of East city, she took a decision. Grasping a few coins out of her pocket, she went into the telephone booth and formed the number of the Central Radio station.


	6. 6 - Phone call (Breda)

He was working on the evening news bulletin when his desk phone rang.

"Breda."

He didn't bother with polite introductions anymore, people called all the time to tell him about one or the other news fact that he just _had_ to hear, surely the scoop of the day. Most of the time they were babbling about a cat being stuck in a tree, or a minor car accident that happened on a cross-road nearby. Still it was worth answering the phone, for sometimes in their stories a more interesting fact would pop up, and Heymans would jump at it without hesitation. His knack of finding those stories worth telling had become a kind of trademark, while all he did was listen to what people wanted to tell him anyways. Today though, the news was already packed as it was, so he probably didn't sound as interested as he should have.

"Heymans? This is Hawkeye speaking."

For a moment he was stunned into silence. Then sheer panic rose to his throat. "Riza? What is wrong? Has something happened to Mustang?"

"No, no, everything is fine." A pause. "I just needed to talk to someone." She sounded the same as ever, but her words did nothing to ease his worry.

"Aren't you supposed to be at work?" It wasn't like her at all to call during office hours. In fact, it wasn't like her to call at all. There must be something going on for Riza Hawkeye, the imperturbable, to do something so out of character.

"Heymans, I need a favour. The General is acting a little strange…" She audibly hesitated and Heymans resisted the urge to roll his eyes. Mustang was not alone at that, to say the least.

He drummed his pencil on his desk, glancing around him to see if no one was listening, but it seemed everyone was too engrossed in their own work to notice him answering this private call. "What can I do for you?"

"Can you get to Lieutenant Ross? The General seems to be investigating something, and as part of the court-martial office, she should be able to confirm if it is what I think it is. I don't want to ask her directly, as a fellow officer it would only get her in trouble…."

It sounded increasingly intriguing, and Breda felt a smile creep on his face. It seemed like the old days again, unravelling a mystery while they were stationed all across the country. "Sure, I'll give Havoc a call. She tends to visit him regularly and he might just be able to slip in a question in between his attempts to kiss her. What do you want me to ask?"

A silence followed and he imagined that she was glaring at the phone at his insinuation of what was happening between Havoc and Ross. "Heymans. I think he's up to something. He hasn't been as focused lately on going forward in the ranks, not since Grumman became Fuhrer and announced that he wanted to give more power to the people. With that part on hold, perhaps he's going to advance the _other_ part of what we swore to do. He's been interviewing witnesses of the war, and victims too…"

Breda's breath hitched in his throat. He fell silent for a while, and then found his voice back. "Then we definitely need to do something about that, don't we, Lieutenant? I'll get to Maria Ross and confirm whether you are right. If you are, we take action. There are plenty that will not let this happen. Rest assured, we have your back on this."

"But, Breda." She sounded so alone in that moment, "what if he is right to start this now?"

He understood then, why she had called. Torn between her love for the General and her own demons, she saw no path forward.

"He has no right to start this. Not until he has done what he has promised to do, Lieutenant. First there is a whole lot of other things that need to happen. We all made a pledge to support him upon this path, and we will not let him back out. We need to remind him on why we need him in _that_ position. He cannot give up now." _You_ cannot give up now, he added in silence. Not even when Mustang has finally decided to seek out the punishment for what he has done in the past.

"You don't really know what he… what we… did there Breda. Perhaps you would not say the same thing if you did. We were no common soldiers, forced to act by their superiors. We did what we did willingly and we shall have to pay for that someday."

The girl was so goddamn stubborn. "If only he would _tell_ the rest of us what happened there in Ishval, what he has done, perhaps we could make up our own minds, instead of trusting the judgement of others, don't you think Hawkeye? I at least know from your side of the story that you were still a cadet when you were sent there. If that is not being forced by your superiors, I don't know what is." It came out far more forcefully than he had intended.

Again a silence on the other side. Well, she had called him for a reason, he was known always to speak his mind, even when people did not like what he had to say.

"You know he never speaks about the war. Not even to me. The only one whom he ever…." Her voice trailed away and he grunted in reply. He knew indeed.

"Maes isn't around anymore, Lieutenant. You know that, and so does he. Anyway, I have to get back to work. The seven o'clock news will not write itself. I'll do what you asked, you try to find out from your side what he's planning on."

"Thank you."

He didn't know if she had actually said that, so softly did it sound, but he decided he would pretend that she did. "Goodbye Lieutenant, I'll get back in touch somewhere later this week. Don't expect me tomorrow though, I have to get out in the countryside to do interviews for a weekend-item."

"Goodbye Breda." The phone clicked as the connection broke and Heymans released a breath he had not realised he had been holding.

Slowly he put the horn back on the receiver and he turned his pencil between his fingers, back and forth, back and forth. He wasn't as confident as he had made her believe. If Mustang was really preparing for his own trial, despite knowing what that would do to Hawkeye, then there was a slim chance anyone else would be able to stop him.

There was still the possibility that she was wrong. First things first. He had to contact Maria Ross and see if she could find anything. If a trial was being prepared for those involved in the Ishvalan civil war, the court martial office would be well-informed. Should she confirm that such a thing was in the making, by all that he held dear, even if he had to move heaven and earth themselves, he would stop Mustang from destroying himself – and Hawkeye with him. What he had said to Riza was true. There were plenty of people that shared his opinion. Perhaps he had to make a couple of phone calls more, just to make sure that they had a strategy ready, even if things were not quite confirmed yet.

He would make time tonight and call them as soon as he was home. One call to the South, two to the North, two to the East, one to Xing, and finally one to Resembool.

He wouldn't let this happen.

None of them would.


	7. 7 - Ishval (Riza)

Riza put down the horn with a huff of breath. Perhaps she shouldn't have told Breda of her suspicion. He had sounded upset, and he probably wouldn't leave things alone. No, he wouldn't rest until he had a plan in place that would prevent Roy from destroying himself. But was that not what she had wanted?

She felt torn in two. The idea of losing him was just too much to bear, but to go against his wishes made her feel like a traitor. She shivered. Perhaps she had too little faith in him. It was only that she had never even doubted the outcome of a possible trial. What Roy had done was unforgivable, as was her own contribution to that awful war.

Her feet found their way along the streets of East City and she passed the bar that they used to frequent with the team. It was now empty and old posters adorned the dirty windows. It had been nearly two years since she had last sat here with Havoc and Breda, lamenting the laziness of their commander, while Roy in effect was studying one or the other tactical treatise as he was wont to do in those days. He had an infinite hunger for learning strategies, building further on what the military academy had taught him long before he became a state alchemist. She had never told the others. It was all part of the façade. How well he had kept up that semblance of an empty-headed dandy. He still did, even with her.

Back in the Eastern Headquarters, Riza realised it was only four-thirty. She passed by her own desk, picking up a notebook and a pen and decided to wait at the General's door. After no more than fifteen minutes, Major Miles walked out. He distractedly greeted her before making his way through the hallway. He had looked a little pale, and that did nothing to appease her worries.

When she went in, Roy was sitting at his desk, fingertips touching. He did not say anything, but just watched as she came to stand before him. It reminded her so much of the past. Seven years ago they had found themselves in the same position.

He, observing, even scrutinising her with those unreadable dark eyes when she made it clear that that even after the hell of Ishval, she would stay in the military.

She, trying to keep her face calm, trying to hold on to her resolve as she told him that if she could not stay and serve him, there was nothing left to live for.

Protecting each other had been the only sensible goal they had had left. For him as much as for her.

The silence was broken when he leant back in his chair. "Lieutenant."

"Sir."

How could two words mean so much? She heard his hesitant apology and did not doubt that her demand for an explanation was equally received by the other side.

"I'm sorry I sent you away earlier today. I wanted to speak to this man alone. I trust that you have learned why by now, but I regret that I had not informed you earlier."

So he thought that this one incident was still what irked her. Or he chose his words carefully to hide his other intentions. Before she could study his face to learn what he meant, he rose from his chair and walked over to the window.

"I have just discussed with Major Miles that I wish to go on an inspection visit to the Daliha region. I would leave tomorrow, and I would like you by my side."

"Of course, sir." There was no way she would allow him to travel there alone.

"Lieutenant." His voice sounded much softer now. "I will go and visit some of the deserted villages. I need to see what can be salvaged and determine where we will start the development of the area. It might take a while, and I need someone here to keep affairs in order during my absence."

He was urging her to think carefully on her decision, giving her a way out, but she would have none of it. "I am certain Major Miles is well-capable of managing things in your absence, sir. He is one of the more trustworthy people I know."

His shoulders sagged a little, unnoticeable to anyone but her. "Very well then. We will leave at seven sharp. Don't be late."

With a click of her heels and a sharp salute, she turned to leave the room.

"Lieutenant." She halted as he called after her. "You can trust me too. Do not forget that."

She nodded and without looking back walked through the door, her heart thumping in her throat. Perhaps he had noticed more than she had thought.

To her surprise, Major Miles was already waiting for her. She pushed the thoughts to the back of her mind. "Sir, how can I help you?"

His sunglasses hid his eyes, but she could tell he was scrutinising her. "You tell me, Lieutenant. Do I need to pack tonight to join the General on his expedition?"

"No sir. I will go."

He nodded, "I thought as much, seen our earlier conversation. Take care of him, Lieutenant. We need him to rebuild this land."

"Yes, sir."

The following days passed in a haze. They travelled early in the morning and late at night, to avoid the leaden heat that marked the east in summer, but even then temperatures were high. The land was mostly empty, and she wondered what Roy had expected. Still he travelled with the same determination in his eyes that she had once seen when he spoke on becoming Fuhrer, as if he had a clear goal in mind. But it was only on the fourth day that she heard what that goal was.

They had reached the outskirts of a village, if it could be called that. They walked through row upon row of make-shift homes and she noticed that people had started to make their lodgings more permanent. With stones and the scarce wood that could be found in this area, they had been building what looked like one-room houses. A few elderly men that sat at the side of the street eyed them suspiciously. They were not wearing the white mantles which the army had provided to protect them from the sun. The General had considered that too much of a provocation, but when she had suggested that he'd better leave his uniform behind as well, he had bluntly rejected. He had said that he refused to fool the people into thinking that he was a civilian.

When a man, a stonemason from the look of his huge hands and the white dust on his apron, stepped forward to halt them, she tensed. There was bound to be trouble in a village full of refugees. She was prepared, for insults or something worse.

Roy did not seem the least bothered, his stance still relaxed and the corners of his mouth even turned up into a small smile. He stepped closer to the man without hesitation and extended his hand. "Ah, from what I understood from Major Miles, you must be Chaim."

"Yes, sir." The man clasped his hand in return, though his expression wasn't exactly friendly. "He sent word that you would want to visit the village. You're free to go there. I will accompany you to make sure you respect the surroundings."

Roy, all serious again, turned to his personal guard that was now forever by his side. "All of you will stay here. Lieutenant Hawkeye, as you will not let me out of your sight, you can accompany me."

What was he up to? What village were they talking about if not this one? It didn't seem right. She hadn't seen a single sign on the way that there were other towns in the neighbourhood.

It became clear soon enough. They reached the end of the newly built tents and houses in no time, and what she saw then took her breath away.

Before them was what once had been the main street of a flourishing town. Only it was now nothing but desolate ruins.

Slowly the General started to walk, closely followed by both Riza and Chaim the stonemason. Riza had to remind herself to keep breathing as they passed through the deserted street. All the roofs were missing, but many of the walls were still partially standing and on some of those walls the signs of the shops that had once occupied the ruins were still visible. A baker, a grocery store, a butcher.

Now and then Roy stopped, and stole a glance inside the ruins. Riza followed and realised that what they were seeing through the remnants of the windows along the crumpled walls, were objects that had been left behind. A couple of sewing machines in what must have been a tissue shop, an anvil and thongs in the smithy, a deformed plough in a farmer's barn. All had been melted to a certain degree, and she felt queasy in her stomach as realisation dawned.

Without any prompting, Roy started to speak. "I was here when this happened. It was nearly eight years ago, one of the very first places they sent me to. We had been ordered to round up the villagers. The men were sent to the barns and the women and children gathered in their church." His voice did not betray any emotion, and he walked before her so she couldn't see his face, but she knew this wasn't going to be a pleasant story. "My company shot the men, as they had been ordered to do. For many of them, it was the first time they had to kill in cold blood, but the day before we had been under heavy gunfire from the Ishvalans, and I had lost a fifth of my company. Many had seen their comrades die and revenge was hot in their minds. They executed the order without a single protest. Then the Colonel who was in charge sent word and I executed _my_ orders and burnt all that remained with only a few explosions."

She heard Chaim sharply inhale, and apparently Roy had heard the same, for he turned around to face the Ishvalan. "You knew very well that I was involved here, didn't you? I cannot blame you if you wish to take your own revenge."

Riza felt her heart beat in her throat. The urge to grab her guns was almost too much. But he had asked her have faith, and even if she was worried to death, she made her own decision. She would trust him on this one.

Chaim looked the General straight in the eyes. "I knew indeed. Miles told me as much in his message, and I have consulted with the Grand Cleric on how to progress."

Again that hint of a smile on Roy's face. "And what did he say?"

Dismissively Chaim moved his hand, "I have not yet received his reply. But we have held council with the survivors. We left the village as it was to remind people of what had happened, and we will make sure your name will be mentioned to whomever that visits, General Mustang. Just to make sure no one – not even you -can forget your past."

"Very well. Rest assured, I will not. Someone told me a long time ago not to forget those that I killed. He was a strange man, with whom I violently disagreed on many things, but on this he was right. We have no right to forget what we have done. It is only right that the other people too should hear of my misdeeds. However, regardless of what your community wants, I know you have lost more than most. Will you not take your revenge for your son and daughters now?" Every fibre that was Riza Hawkeye wanted to step forward, to kick Roy's feet from under him, to punch him into silence. She did not. Instead she patiently waited for the reply of Chaim. However reckless the General seemed, she prayed, no trusted, that he wanted to achieve something with this question.

"No." Chaim took a deep breath, "however tempting it is, I will not. More bloodshed will not bring my children or brothers or sisters back to life. Your recent actions have benefited us all, and if we want to have a chance on a new life here in this region, you will have to continue." He paused a moment. "There are many others who share my opinion. Grand Cleric Scar doubtlessly will agree, as you already know, and most of our other leaders do too. Rebuild this land, General, and your name might be mentioned with some respect in Ishval again."

Roy softly laughed, "Oh Chaim, how naïve of you. I will never be pardoned, no matter what I do. Thank you nonetheless for letting me come here – and walk away again. I promise that I will do whatever I can to help you rebuild this place. My Lieutenant will make sure that I do not stray from the right path, do not be afraid."

Chaim looked at her now, and she nodded. "I will. I made that promise a long time ago."

They walked back in silence. When they passed the ruins of the church, Roy halted a moment and stared at the fresh flowers that had been laid by what once had been the altar. Then he turned away from the sight and again in silence they went through the new village to the place where their men had set up their camp. He disappeared into his tent without further comment. Riza had seen his face in the moment he let the tent fall close behind him, and she knew he wouldn't come out any time soon. She had seen that face before, also a long time ago.

Her heart ached to go after him, but it was up to her to give the men the orders for the evening. Fires had to be made, food to be cooked and for a while the tasks kept her busy. When all was ready, she sat herself down by a fire and finally let the things she had seen sink in. Chaim had told her that there had been nearly two hundred children and as many women driven into the village church before it was torched. She would never be able to forget the sight of those flowers against a burnt down altar.

* * *

_Oradour-Sur-Glane was a village near Limoges (France) that was struck by the worst possible disaster at the end of WWII and was left as it was on June-10 1944 ever since. A new village arose just around the corner, where those that were not present at the time of the cruel annihilation of the village rebuilt their lives from the shards of their memories. The horror of the extermination of that village, 629 inhabitants murdered in just a few hours' time, in a deliberate attack of a single company of the German army for no other reason than to scare the resistance after the first careful successes of the allied forces, is something I tried to show here. I deliberately focused on the side of those involved in doing the murdering… I could not shake off the thought that to be part of such an operation would leave its traces, assuming that not all of those involved are psychopaths, I think these are the images and deeds that would hunt them too for the rest of their lives. Perhaps that's enough of a price to pay for what they did, perhaps not, but I agree with Chaim here – more bloodshed is never the solution._

_If you are ever near that place, go visit, take your children. It's a harrowing experience, leaves you raw and silent, but worth it to see what can happen when we lose our humanity…. _


	8. 8 - Blindness (Roy)

It had all started during those hectic weeks after the Promised day.

He had given the stone back to Marcoh to help the wounded before he would take it to regain his sight and that had meant that he had had to spend two and a half weeks in blindness. At first he had been forced to recover in Central's military hospital, but after a day or two he had gone back to work, leaving Riza in the good care of the hospital staff.

In those weeks, 'work' had been all about damage control. To ask Breda to join the Central Radio team had been one of his better moves, even Riza had had to admit that. Together they had carefully guided the public opinion into accepting Grumman as their new leader, while countering the emerging hatred for the Northern soldiers. Much as he hated to admit it, he did not want to make an enemy out of Oliver Armstrong. She was far too capable a General, and he did not doubt that he would need her later on. Besides, this was supposed to be a time of reconciliation – or that was what Grumman had said in his inauguration speech, and another conflict would rather ruin the story they had told the people of Amestris.

Being temporarily blind had had its perks. He had to be escorted home, and had needed help for the simplest tasks, but it also had meant that the General, somehow feeling compassionate for his wounded subordinate, forced him to leave the office early, despite all that was still happening. He had been free to spend his evenings quietly alone in the dark, and that freedom had given him more time to think than he had had in the last ten years.

He remembered how on one of these evenings, he had sat in his scarcely furnished living room. A couch and a cheap coffee table, there hadn't been much more. There still wasn't. As a blind man, it had made things easier to navigate around the room in the dark, and he had always liked to sleep on the ground.

_He had clumsily put his glass of water on top of the little table, his medicines waiting next to it. He did not want to take them just yet, even if both his hands were screaming for attention. The pills would make him drowsy and he needed some time to consider what to do. _

_The choice that was before him weighed heavily on his mind. He had told Marcoh that he would accept his offer, but in truth he still had second thoughts about that. He was well aware that he had other choices. _

_He could chose to remain blind. _

_He could find another way out, as Edward had. _

_It was only a theoretical musing, an exercise in rhetoric at best. Both scenarios would mean that he would have to resign from the military, and unlike Elric, he had no life waiting for him outside of the ranks. He hardly had any family, no skills beyond alchemy. _

_And It would mean giving up his foolish ambition. He would never be able to make up for his wrongdoings of the past._

_He was left with the only remaining option. To take the stone back to Truth and exchange it for his sight. More Ishvalans would die for him. _

_He rubbed his forehead, his head was thumping now too. The meds that he had taken in the morning had long worn out and he felt again why the doctors in the hospital had made him sign that paper that leaving their care was at his own risk. _

_He wished he would have been able to talk to Hughes about this. Would he have thought it legitimate to use so many lives just to regain his sight? To fulfil his foolish ambitions? His promise to rise in the ranks had been made when they both had desperately needed something to hold on to, something to keep on living for, after all they had seen and done. Many were looking at him now to fulfil that promise of a better world, even if he wasn't so convinced anymore that he was the right person to be put in charge._

_When he had killed Lust, he had done so without any regrets. It had been easy. A flick of his hand, and the flames went where he ordered them to go. He had not really thought about it, hardly felt anything but that all-consuming anger. In all the fights of the past months it had been much the same. _

_With Envy, it had been even worse. Riza had thought that she had stopped him from crossing the line between being a justified defender of his companions and a mean man that killed out of rage and while on that occasion, he had indeed been able to hold back, he knew in his heart that he had crossed that line a long time ago._

_Even afterwards, he felt no regrets about killing any of them, no grief, only a detached sort of anger. It had been the same in Ishval at the end of the war and that realisation frightened him more than anything else._

_Was he truly a monster? A human weapon to be aimed at a target of choice, who could be fired easily by only pushing a few buttons? He believed he might be. _

_Hughes would have told him not to be such a fool, to look at things from the bright side. He would have pointed it out to him that he at least had listened to Ed and Riza in the end, that he had done what he had done because he wanted to survive and protect his friends, and the country. _

_But he had not even been able to protect Maes._

_He took his pills in one hand and threw them in his mouth, quickly followed by the glass of water. The only benefit of this medication was that he would sleep without nightmares tonight. Stumbling he made his way to his sleeping-mat, and in the half an hour or so that it took until the pills started to work, he made up his mind. He would take the stone, and then he would try to find out if he could still feel something when confronted with the consequences of what he had done. If not, he would ask Hawkeye to keep _her_ part of the promise without further ado. _


	9. 9 - At the grave (Roy)

"You know, you should go to dog training school with Hayate." It was Breda who touched the sensitive subject and Roy snickered as he anticipated Hawkeye's answer.

"I think Hayate is perfectly trained already."

He could not see her expression, but he could guess. However Breda had drunk quite a few beers, and he just ploughed on. "He jumps on people, Hawkeye, and he pulls the leash when I take him out."

"Then that is something _you_ need to work on, Heymans. It is a matter of discipline, you have to let the dog feel your authority and of course, perseverance is key. No unwanted behaviour can go without a punishment."

Their conversation drifted on, bickering as they always did, but Roy had gotten lost in thought at the mentioning of those words. Discipline. Perseverance. Being a clear leader. It were the values to which he had devoted his life this last decade. And so had Hawkeye. Look at where those principles had gotten them.

Roy stared at his beer. It had become lukewarm and he signalled Jennifer over to exchange it for a new one. She threw him a knowing look. He could not afford to drink too much, not if he wanted to sleep at all tonight. Alcohol made the dreams worse. With a weary smile, he let her take his nearly full glass away. It would only worry his friends if it seemed that he didn't drink at all, so he had long ago agreed with Madam's girls that they would bring him a new pint of beer now and then, even if he had drunk little of the previous one.

He rubbed his eyes. It was late, and he would need to get up early to pass by the office before going to the train station. Doubtlessly Grumman wanted to give him some last-minute instructions. Ishval. Back to where it all started.

The tingling feeling in the back of his neck warned him that someone was looking at him. He looked at his side and noticed that Havoc was quietly observing him. He forced a smile on his face. His second lieutenant had come such a long way in the past years. Even when the nerves had been healed, he had been facing a long and painful revalidation. Jean truly was a hard-working bastard, and though he would never say it out loud, Roy was damn proud of him.

He tried to bring his attention back to the conversation next to him, which had gone from dog training to dog food, but his head started to ache. The sole reason why he had come to this impromptu celebration was because he did not want to disappoint Jean on a night like this, but now he longed to be alone. It seemed like Havoc wasn't in a much better state, he was shifting on his high stool and grimaced as if he was in pain. He met his lieutenant's eyes and raised a questioning eyebrow.

It was no surprise when Havoc nodded in return, and he rose. It was time to rescue Jean from his own party. At that moment Jennifer returned. Instead of taking the fresh pint she was carrying, he unobtrusively took some money out of his pocket and shoved it into her hand while he went over to Jean. The least he could do was to pay for this evening out.

"Want to go home?"

Havoc looked relieved, "Please, I'm spent."

"That I can see. Come, let me support you, I'll take you home in my car." It was indeed high time to get him out of the bar. Roy readjusted his arm so that he could better support Jean. In such a moment he cursed his own lack of vigilance on that fateful night now nearly three years ago. If only he had been quicker to realise that Lust would strike back. He took a deep breath and pushed the anger away. "Lean on me, Havoc. I'll carry you if I have to. I owe you that much." He didn't even know why he had said it out loud.

He helped Jean into his car and silently drove him home. The image of Lust impaling Havoc plagued him all the way, the smell of burnt flesh, the panic when he did not get any response out of his subordinate, the furious anger he had felt as he had incinerated the Homunculus again and again and again. He let the waves of memory roll over him. They would pass. They always did, but sleep would really be out of the question this night, that was now certain. He managed to keep his countenance even until he had left Havoc's small house and had walked back to his car, but there he sat and stared at his steering wheel. With trembling hands, he turned the key.

The cemetery was only a short drive away from Havoc's place, and he left his car on the deserted parking. Who on earth visited a cemetery in the middle of the night? He checked his pocket watch as he went through the gates. Two thirty. Only three more hours at most before the sun came up.

He knew his way as well in the dark as in the light. This had been the only place that he had insisted on visiting alone during his blindness, forcing his subordinates to wait by the gates. He did not want them here with him.

He huffed when he stood before the gravestone. "Hey, here I am again." It was barely a murmur. "It's been a while. Things have been so busy lately." He paused a moment. "You probably already know that I'm going back to the desert. I have no choice. I cannot abandon our goal. It's not that Grumman isn't a capable leader. He is everything I wanted to become and more, but if I stop now, if I let go of that stupid promise I made with you, who will make sure I answer for my sins?" Roy clenched his fists until he felt his nails bite into his palms. "Even the Hawk's eye is far too forgiving. She should have shot me, Maes, she really should have, but her fate is bound to mine. I cannot expect her to give up her own life just because of my wrongdoings. That's too much to ask. So I have to continue, I have to keep on living and I have to go to Ishval and rebuild things there, in the hope that those deeds will gain me the support of a people that has all the right to violently hate me." He did not believe it was ever going to work. He would keep his promise, his honour would never allow him otherwise, but in these last months he had often thought back on his choice and realised how he had cornered himself when he had taken Marcoh's offer in return of his sight. "At least Havoc is doing better. You know, he managed to walk a decent distance on his own two feet today. We were out celebrating but I just couldn't focus. Every time I see him, I think of how I killed that monster." His voice trembled a little, and for once he did not care. There was no one here to see him, no one to hear him. His only witness was the silent stone that covered the one person that had been there for him in his darkest days. "I think of what a monster I still am. I haven't changed, Maes. Perhaps I am too weak." He heard a creaking noise and knew someone had opened the gate again. A small smile appeared on his face as he listened to her footsteps on the soft grass. She halted a bit behind him and he was grateful for that. He didn't want her to see his tears. She had suffered enough because of him.

"Sir, I think it's time to leave."

He didn't want to go, not yet. Not ever. Here at least he could be himself. In any other place, at any other time, he would have to be General Mustang, Saviour of Amestris, Hero of the war, brilliant strategist, cocky playboy. Here he could be Roy. Simply Roy, with all his doubts and fears and regrets. Maes listened, as he always had.

He heard her shuffle her feet. It wasn't fair to ignore her, he knew that. She could not know. "Go home, Lieutenant, and sleep now you still can. There's nothing for you here."

"Nor for you, sir. You too should get a few hours of rest before we leave."

He was tempted to laugh. As if he would sleep on a night like this. "You are far too stubborn. Again proof of why you deserve that promotion to captain, Hawkeye. You will have to accept it. Grumman has signed the papers. We will make it public when we return." He knew he was touching a sensitive subject. Somehow he wanted her to be irritated, to be angry with him. He deserved that.

"I suppose I will have no say in this, sir?" She sounded sad, and that took him of guard. He hadn't meant to hurt her. Hell, why did he keep hurting her? He casually brushed his sleeve over his face, wiped away his silent tears and composed himself.

"No, Hawkeye, you won't. Now as to why you came to find me. Does it bother you, that we have to go back to Ishval? If so, I can still arrange for you to stay here." He meant it, wholeheartedly. Again he was dragging her with him into that desert. She had already followed him there once, it was more than enough.

"No sir. I merely came to see if you needed my assistance."

He turned around and saw how she couldn't supress a shiver. Another stab of guilt went through his heart. "You are cold Lieutenant. You should go home. Let me drop you off. I am ready here." He glanced back one last time, saying goodbye to his friend.

The ride home was quiet. Hawkeye did want to say something as she left his car, but he thought he had managed to brush her off. She shouldn't worry, not about him.

He waited until the light in her apartment turned on, and finally drove home.

Once into his house, he threw his keys on the coffee table and stole a glance through the window. There was light at the horizon, it was only a few hours until he would have to rise again. With a groan he undid his buttons and removed his jacket before he crashed down on his couch. He took up the ancient Xinghese treatise on warfare that Emperor Ling had sent him recently and started to read the passage that he had been reading and re-reading the whole previous night. _"The general who does not advance to seek glory, or does not withdraw to avoid punishment, but cares for only the people's security and promotes the people's interests, is the nation's greatest treasure." _The sentence had been underlined, doubtlessly by Ling himself, and Roy sighed as he read it again and again. There were so many who believed in him, what if he failed them?

* * *

_For those who are wondering, Roy is reading Sun Tzu - The art of War._


	10. 10 - Interviews in the East (Roy)

Roy tried to focus on his paperwork as the landscape passed by. Hawkeye had disappeared from their coupé with the sergeant of his bodyguard, and he could do little else than plough through his to-do pile to pass the time. Truth was that he would do anything that would make him forget what had happened at the station.

It had been confronting to react that way again. In those first few years after the war, he would find himself crouching on the street almost on a weekly base. It had passed, as it had for most of them veterans, and after a while Hughes and he had shared some good laughs over a drink on how often they had been startled by a falling teacup, or a faulty car.

Deep down, they both knew it wasn't funny at all, but they had to continue their lives, and reacting with a drawn knife or a spark at your fingertips at something as trivial as the noise of an unexpected ball against the window was something that they'd rather ridiculed. If they would take their reactions seriously, they would have to truly acknowledge how much the war had damaged them.

It seemed like the old issue was back now, and he hated himself for his weakness. He shouldn't have let his guard down. Someone could have gotten hurt.

He rubbed his eyes and threw himself on the next report, pushing his dark thoughts away. At least he could put this train ride to good use. With a grimace, he recognised the meticulous handwriting of Fallman. After the last night, it might be a challenge to read the painstakingly detailed accounts of what had happened in Briggs these last months. They were very useful though. Fallman's reports had to be approved by General Armstrong before they were sent, but that didn't stop his subordinate from hiding useful information on her whereabouts in his notes. Roy assumed that even she grew tired of the endless descriptions that made up most of Vato's reports. For anyone not aware of the code, the message would be hard to decipher. A smile played around his lips as he set himself to work.

They arrived in East city late in the afternoon and Roy went straight to his empty apartment. Somehow he had succeeded in convincing his bodyguard that he did not need the protection here, or at least not tonight, and Hawkeye had joined the others to the barracks. It meant he would have a precious quiet night alone. His preparations were in place, phone calls had been made already weeks ago, and tomorrow would be filled with meetings and work, but tonight, his to-do pile was finished and there was no one waiting for him. He was free to do whatever he wanted.

He probably should get to bed early, especially after the previous sleepless night.

He should, but he didn't. He spent his evening leafing through Ling's treatise again, marking passages that struck him as relevant, going back and forth between the chapters.

It all sounded so damn simple, _"There are roads which must not be followed, armies which must not be attacked, towns which must not be besieged, positions which must not be contested, commands of the sovereign which must not be obeyed."_, and it rang so true. The way he posed his advice almost made Roy wonder if possibly the author had made the same mistakes he had.

When the bright light of the rising sun touched his face, he was lying sprawled on his couch, the book still resting on his stomach. He almost, almost laughed, except that again he was reminded of years past, when he was nothing more than a perseverant alchemy student.

He fished a fresh pair of uniform trousers and a clean shirt out of his pack, showered, and went to his kitchen, a towel over his still half-wet shoulder. The scars on his abdomen still hurt when the rough fabric of his military shirt rubbed over them, even after two years, and when he was alone, he would rather go without.

It was a funny thing. After the war in Ishval he had desperately wished for his scars to be visible, tangible. He would have cut himself, stabbed himself, if not for Hughes. All because he believed that it would make it easier for those around him if they could see his pain. A lost limb. A mark of a bullet wound. People understood those things. A hero feeling depressed after he had been instrumental in the country's victory? Not so much.

Now those scars _were_ there, and he hid them from everyone. He did not want, did not need the reminder of what had happened. Over the years, he had come to realise that he did not deserve their pity.

He opened the cupboard and was glad to see that the lady whom he paid for cleaning his apartment had foreseen some supplies. He took what he needed and sat himself at his table.

The bread stared back at him, and he felt nausea rise. He would have to get back to his desk today. He had hardly spent any time in his office in the East after that fateful evening, and certainly not alone. The phone would still be there, and he would have no choice than to remember.

_The phone rang. He picked it up. Silence. Utter silence. No matter how often he repeated, shouted, screamed his friend's name._

With a shake of his head, he freed himself of his memories and purposefully took a slice of bread from the bag. He would eat. He would go back to his desk. He would do what he set out to do. It was why he was here. He could do this.

The office was familiar, and yet not. Major Miles had prepared Grumman's old quarters for him rather than his own office, and while he was grateful for not having to immediately face his demons, it felt strange to sit on the other side of this well-known desk. He supposed he'd better get used to it.

The Major was standing before him, impeccable posture as always, and Roy smirked at the thought that he had managed to steal this one away from Armstrong. He did not doubt that Miles sent her reports on his whereabouts as often as Fallman sent him those on hers, but he wasn't too concerned. Miles had a goal to fulfil here, as much as he had, and Roy did not doubt that he could count on his loyalty as far as the mission in Ishval was concerned. It was too bad the man hadn't gotten promoted yet. He was more than competent, but just loved to stay in the shadows. He reminded him of his own Lieutenant-soon-to-be-Captain.

"Stand down Major. Have a seat."

"I trust your journey wasn't too uncomfortable, sir?" Miles removed his inseparable sunglasses, and sat himself down across him.

Roy leant back in his chair, and pressed his fingers together, studying the man before him. "No, it was rather pleasant to be able to work without being disturbed for once. So Major, is all arranged as I requested?"

The frequent blinking of his eyes was all that betrayed the Major's unease. "Yes sir, all of them have been asked to come here in the next week. I have prepared a schedule."

"Very well. Did you find anyone from Daliha?"

Miles nodded, "in the refugee camp close to the city there were a few who met your criteria." He hesitated for a moment, "are you sure you want to go ahead with this General? I've done what I could to assure that none of the people you are meeting are dangerous, but..."

Roy smiled, "no need to worry."

"I suppose you _can_ defend yourself, sir."

His smile disappeared, "I can, but I do not think it will be necessary. How are the preparations for our little trip going?"

"I am in contact with one of the survivors, sir. Chaim is a stonemason, who seems to act like the new village's leader. He might be willing to receive you there."

He could hear the hesitation in the Miles' voice. "Say it, Major. What is bothering you?"

"It is not public knowledge that you were the one involved there, sir. The people do not know. If you go there now…."

"They will know and talk about it." Roy finished the sentence and sadly smiled. "It is not an issue. The people deserve to know what kind of man I am. Good work in arranging all this, Major. You are dismissed."

With a click of his heels, Miles disappeared from his office and Hawkeye came in as soon as he had left. Roy pensively looked at her. It did not feel comfortable to keep all of this from her, but he feared she would worry overmuch if she did know. Only Grumman was aware of his plans, and the Fuhrer had agreed to his approach, even if there was a risk. "Ah Lieutenant. Just the person I needed."

"Sir?"

"Tomorrow we will start collecting information on what the people want of us. I have asked Major Miles to invite some of the refugees, so we can learn from them where they need us the most. I would like to record what they are saying, but I do not think I will want too many people in the room when I talk to them. Would you take notes? I will need to condense their verbatims into my own reports, but it would be helpful if someone can jolt down the main points while they are talking." In truth, he would have made notes himself, but his hands hurt after writing for a prolonged time. The wounds had healed, but the scar tissue still stung at times.

"Of course, sir." Her face was neutral as ever, but he knew she would understand why he didn't want anyone else around when talking to Ishvalan refugees.

"Very well, Lieutenant. We start after lunch. Major Miles has prepared our old office."

The following days were spent listening to those that had come to tell him what they had gone through and how they had survived these last few years. The evenings were focussed on going through Hawkeye's meticulous notes. He had to find the common factors that had played a role in these peoples' survival, the things that were so important to them that they had propelled them on, that had made sure that they held on to life, rather than giving up. Their stories were filled with grief and anger, but he managed somehow to approach them with the distant look of an observer. Categorising them according to the trauma suffered, trying to analyse if education level had anything to do with how they coped with what they had been through. No matter that his nights were filled with nightmares. He could still pretend that he was here to investigate for Grumman's sake.

The day he let Gary walk into his office, he could tell from the way Hawkeye announced him that she was upset with him. However in that moment he could not, would not focus on her. He needed all his strength to face this particular victim, to keep his semblance of calmness. He sent her away in a moment where he thought, even knew, that he would need her the most.

The maimed man walked in with obvious caution, and when they sat across each other, Roy had a hard time starting the conversation. It was an uncomfortable encounter, to say the least. But once they had gotten beyond that, when the stories emerged, he felt something different. This man, more than any other he had seen so far, touched him. This man made him feel, finally made him feel.

It was not the confrontation with the consequences of what he had done. He had long been aware of the magnitude of the horror that he had caused.

It was the fact that this man did not seem to hate him.

Haltingly, Gary told him how he had lived a quiet life as a teacher, until the war had started. Gradually he had become involved in the Ishvalan resistance, and gradually he had evolved from a scholar into a rather bloodthirsty soldier. There were many things that had contributed to him taking up the arms. Small things, like how he saw the fear in the eyes of the children in his class, like how they all disappeared one by one, fleeing with their parents, or dying in the relentless attacks. Big things, like the sermons he continuously heard from the clerics of the village, the talk of the men in the evening echoing those sermons, how Ishvala would never have wanted the Amestrians to be occupying the land that was rightfully theirs, how they had a duty to defend their holy land, to fight back. There had been other voices too, of course, pleading for tolerance, for temperance, but either they had sounded too softly, or he had chosen to ignore them. He had followed where others had led him and he had managed to take down quite a few Amestrians, both soldiers and civilians, until he had participated in the attack on a village close to the border which had proved to be his undoing.

Roy did not remember that attack. There had been so many raids on the Eastern villages in that last year of war. So many soldiers and even more civilians that had died in them. He had often been put in charge of retaliation missions and after he had done his job, Knox would come and take the wounded to his hospital to learn what burning could do to a human body. It had become a habit of sorts. They had often worked together. With Knox, Roy had learned more about the reaction of the human body on burns than he had ever wanted.

Some of Gary's wounds had been left to heal without any medical intervention. Those parts had served as a reference for the parts that Knox had treated with various experimental new methods. The result was that he was scarred beyond measure and that in some places the wounds still needed attending, even after eight years.

Given the circumstances, he found it strange to find that there was a hint of understanding between the two of them.

Perhaps it was because both had done some horrible things. Perhaps because both had decided after the war that the only way forward was to find a new goal in their life, even if Gary's now simply was to teach children again, showing them why violence should always be the last option, while Roy's was somewhat more ambitious.

Gary could not hold back his tears when talking about his past and Roy knelt before him, holding his hands. He asked the Ishvalan survivor what he, a general of Amestris, a war criminal, could do to help to prevent the next generations from making the same mistakes as they had, but a knock on the door stopped Gary from answering.

Major Miles appeared with a weak excuse on having to bring back some papers, and Roy reluctantly rose. "What is it, Major? I thought I had asked not to be disturbed?" He was more than a little irritated at the interruption. It wasn't like Miles at all to do such a thing, not when he knew perfectly well what was occupying his General in these hours of the afternoon.

"I'm sorry sir. I just wanted to bring you the reports you had requested on the Daliha village you will be visiting." Miles looked not the slightest bit sorry, and held the papers out to him.

"Very well." He kept his voice quiet and took the report, but his displeasure was clearly audible. He would want an explanation, and a good one too.

Major Miles refused to meet his eyes, but stared at a point behind him. "I see that you do not need any further assistance, sir. With your leave I will return to the mess, the Lieutenant might be eating her lunch."

Roy blinked as realisation dawned and looked at his pocket watch. Two forty-five. Quite some time since he had let the civilian into his office and sent his Lieutenant out. Quickly he took a decision. "Cancel my further appointments this afternoon, Major, and tell Hawkeye that I want her to return at five."

Major Miles raised a silent eyebrow and Roy smirked. "There is no one else who could convince you to come barging in here without even a hint of an excuse. You are far too conscientious for that. As for you, Major, I will see you in my office at four-thirty. If you are going to be the one in charge here in the next week, I need to give you some instructions, and if Hawkeye decides to stay in East city," he shrugged, he didn't really expect her to, even if he preferred to leave her behind on this particular expedition, "then you'll still have time to pack your belongings tonight."

Miles' eyes were hidden behind his sunglasses, but he did not need to see them to notice the surprise in the Major. Why did people keep assuming that he did not know what was important to his subordinates?

The door closed softly behind the Major, and he went back to Gary. He did not mention the interruption, but he could see the smile play around the civilian's mouth.

"It is good to see that there are those who care, even for people like us." The teacher said.

For a moment he was dumbstruck. Then he nodded. "It is, even if we don't deserve them."


	11. 11 - The desert (Roy)

With some effort, Roy stood up, took his wash-bowl and hugged it close. He had eaten little these last few days, but whatever was left in his stomach had found its way out now that they had returned from their visit to the destroyed Daliha village.

He retched for at least the tenth time, but nothing came. Biting his fist, he tried to mute the sound of the uncontrollable spasms of his intestines. The tent's canvas walls were thin, and he did not want anyone to know that their commander was so disgusted by his own deeds that he could not keep his food down. Sweat trickled along his spine, even if the nights were cool here in the desert.

Riza had seen him. He knew she had. When he had closed the tent's entrance behind him, he had seen her eyes flicker as she recognised the state he was in. Still she had not come. It was better that way. He would not upset her again.

He tried to focus on the here and now, but inevitably the heat, the nausea, the things he had seen today catapulted him back in time.

_Another tent, another night. _

_Maes had been drinking heavily that evening, after returning from headquarters. He had refused to say what had happened, but he lay sprawled next to the fire now, staring at the stars with the saddest look on his face. Roy was no fool. Hughes had left with Grand Cleric Logen and a hopeful smile, he had returned empty-handed, barely concealing his anger. Another disappointment, another failed attempt to end this war. _

_"Whasse time?" Maes looked at him with unfocused eyes, and Roy sighed._

_"Very late." He spoke quietly, staring at his gloved hands. "You can stay in my tent, I'm not going to sleep tonight anyway."_

_With a grunt, Hughes pushed himself in a slightly more upward position. "I should go back. Grand…"_

_Roy looked up, "I sent Colonel Grand a message to tell him that you're indisposed and would not return to the encampment tonight. He sent a note back to wish you well. I think he understood." _

_"Pulled your rank eh? Why'd you do that for a worthless captain like me, Major, Sir?" _

_"So you can go back to your woman." Roy scowled at him, "did you get any letters from your beautiful future recently?" It usually was the surest way to improve Maes' mood to mention Gracia. This time, it was different. If anything, Hughes became even more gloomy._

_"I did. She keeps on asking to tell her about what life is like over here."_

_A pause fell. How could he answer? He had barely written any letters himself lately. Just the bare minimum to let his aunt know that he was still alive. He did not doubt that even those brief, factual notes gave away far more than he intended, but at least she had been wise enough to never ask for more information. He took another deep breath, "Tell her how she is the goal that propels you forward. Tell her how you long to see her again. Keep your promise."_

_Maes face was filled with wonder, "Promise?"_

_"You told me once that you would do anything it takes to be the man she loves, even if you would have to swallow all you did here and face your demons alone."_

_"I did, didn't I." Maes let himself fall back again and leaned on his elbows, staring unseeingly in the fire. "Perhaps I'm not strong enough for that."_

_Roy faintly smiled. "You know Hughes, you're probably right." He was rewarded with a spark of annoyance in his friend's eyes, but it died too soon and Hughes laid himself down again, finally tired enough to sleep. Roy bent closer to the fire and stared into the flames for a long time. He probably should have drank more of that whiskey. He could use the distraction. The evening fires that kept the darkness at bay were comforting for most soldiers. Not for him, never for him. He watched the flames suspiciously. They would be around a thousand degrees Celsius, given the pine wood they were burning as a base material and their reddish orange colour. Enough to… _

_He didn't even finish the thought. Nausea rose and he fled into his tent, retching into his wash-bowl. _

_The stench of burnt flesh would not leave him. He tried to hold back his tears as his stomach cramped. Angrily he willed his food down again. He had to become stronger. Hughes was right, they couldn't burden those they cared for with the things they had seen and done here. They had no right to be comforted. It was a pain that they would have to carry alone. Hugging the bowl close, he sank to his knees. _

_There was a rustling of fabric, a brief flicker of light and then he felt a hand on his shoulder. _

_He tried to shake it off, but the grasp only became firmer, as the hand's owner sank down next to him. "You too are not strong enough to do this alone." It was as if his friend had read his mind, but then again that was not surprising. Their nights were haunted by the same thoughts._

_Roy pushed his sweated bangs from his face "I should be." It sounded weaker than he had hoped and he turned to Hughes, who looked a whole lot more sober than he did a few hours ago._

_Maes absentmindedly started to polish his glasses. "Go to sleep, Roy."_

_He wanted to protest, but knew it would be fruitless. Instead he shoved the washbowl underneath the canvas, out of the tent and curled up on his thin mattress. He fell asleep almost immediately, with his friend watching over him as he had watched over Hughes only hours before._

They had never needed many words to keep each other going even during the darkest of times.

With trembling hands, he put the wash-bowl down and allowed himself a small smile. He was not as unfeeling as he had feared himself to be. He still knew right from wrong, and wrong was what he had been in Ishval, no doubt about that.

They started their journey back to the Eastern headquarters early the next morning. He rode in silence, too caught up in the events of the day, in the dreams of the night to even make an effort to keep a conversation going. Riza rode right behind him, and she too had not said a word since they had left the encampment.

He guessed she had finally realised the true horror of the things that he had done. She had been only a cadet sniper, protecting an infantry battalion at the time. Even she had not seen the full impact of the destruction he had wrought. He had made sure of that.

Now she finally must have decided that she had put her trust in the wrong person, that he was not worthy of her protection. Soon she would tell him that she was going to quit the military, of that he was certain and all he could do was wait for her to voice her decision. It was long expected. The only thing he regretted was that she would be hurt too. He could not stand the thought that she probably was blaming herself as much as she was blaming him. He had tried to convince her before, had told her that it wasn't her fault for showing him the array, that it had been him who had decided to use his skills as he had. That she of all people should know that the gun could not be held accountable for the killing, that that was entirely the responsibility of the person pulling the trigger. Not that she would listen.

He felt very lonely during the dreary journey back to East city, but also strangely at peace. Maes had been the only one who had ever truly understood the magnitude of the destruction that he had brought about and still had stuck around. Now there were more who had seen whom he truly was and he would have to see how many would remain faithful. No matter what their reaction would be, it made him at least feel less of a fraud. Anyone interested would be able to get to know the bloody history of the Flame Alchemist. If that would stop his rise in the ranks, so be it. At least he would be judged by what he had done, and no longer by that facade that he had so carefully constructed nearly a decade ago. He had thought it would serve his goal to forget his atrocities, and Maes had silently agreed, but he had reached a point now where he knew it would be wrong to aspire to the position of Fuhrer while hiding such an important part of himself. The people had to know, and it was about time they did.

They travelled the final stretch by train, and he felt more than exhausted by the time that they arrived. Even after days of travelling, he had only exchanged the barest minimum of words with his Lieutenant, or anyone else for that matter. He just couldn't muster the energy to engage in idle conversation. When they arrived back in the Eastern headquarters, he did not even enter the office. He had called Miles regularly, and was confident that the Major could handle things for a day or so more. Instead he went straight to his apartment, ignoring the worried looks of his Lieutenant. Once she would have come after him, but not anymore.

He went into his apartment alone, and threw his keys on the table next to the mail, which the cleaning lady had dutifully taken out of his letterbox during his absence. Underneath the advertisements and two weeks' worth of newspapers, he found a postcard from Madame who had been on holiday in the West, and a stack of letters, all in different handwriting, seemingly from all over Amestris.

Puzzled he sat himself down on his old couch, and while he unlaced his heavy, dusty boots with one hand, started to flick through them. One with the Imperial seal of Xing, one in Oliver Armstrong's angular script, one in Fallman's neat handwriting, one from the Grand Cleric of Ishval, a telegram from Fuery that told him to call Western headquarters as soon as he got back and one that bore the stamp of East city's main hospital.

What on earth was going on?


	12. 12 - Train to the East (Havoc)

The jolting of the carriage on the tracks as the train made its way out of Central station had Havoc almost fall over. He grasped Breda's arm to steady himself on the narrow bench and instantly regretted that he had said 'yes' to coming on this trip. A full day of this agony awaited him. It wasn't that the train wasn't a comfortable way to travel for normal people, but with legs that couldn't provide the necessary support just yet to compensate for sudden movements, he felt as if he would slip off the bench anytime. Breda had put himself close next to him, so that he was wedged between the window and his friend's quite voluminous body, but still, he hated this lack of control. Luckily the switches had passed, and they were now on a stretch of tracks that lead straight to East City.

With a sigh he leant against the window. If it hadn't been for the boss….

When Breda had come to tell him that something was amiss with Mustang, he had not believed him. However then Heymans had told him that Hawkeye – _Hawkeye_ of all people– had called him to ask for a favour and all of a sudden Havoc had shared his friend's panic.

"So is the boss expecting us?" Breda had come to pick him up that very morning, and had told him that Miles had called to say that the Brigadier General would be returning from his field trip today. So they had jumped on the first train to East City, as they had promised several friends they would do.

Breda grinned. "I don't think so. Miles is managing his agenda for tomorrow, and I have asked to schedule us in at nine, as his first appointment. Chances are that he doesn't even reach the city before this evening, and we should be able to catch him unaware."

Jean stared outside to the passing landscape. "You know Breda, I find it strange that Maria wasn't able to find anything that points to an enquiry being started in central."

"I know." It sounded gruff, and he knew Breda was as frustrated as he was about the lack of results of their investigation. "Still seems like he is collecting evidence, don't you think? Why else would he request all those files from the court martial office?"

Havoc shrugged, "how often have you or I been aware of what the boss was truly planning? Never unless we played a part in his strategy, and he always only told us what we strictly needed to know to fulfil our mission. We're not even part of his command anymore, so why would things be different now?"

"Well, about that…" Breda hesitated and Havoc straightened his back, glaring at his friend.

"Don't tell me you _are_ still in his service."

Breda shrugged, "It was he who got me this job after I left the military to avoid those tricky investigations after the coup. It's not that he has ever asked me to do anything in return, but well, sometimes a juicy story on one of his rivals mysteriously lands on my desk, or one of Madam's girls calls me with some clue to an interesting scoop that coincidentally makes him look good."

Havoc shook his head. "He really is a bastard. He paid me double the value for those weapons I sent on the Promised day. When I wanted to protest he just said that he considered it an advance on future deliveries. He keeps on delaying his orders though, and says that he will only let me pay him back if I ever join the army again." He chuckled, "I heard he did much the same thing to the others. Fallman sends him regular reports on Oliver Armstrong since he has been promoted to second lieutenant, and poor Fuery is forced to listen to his endless conversations with some Southern girls all the time, and does so willingly because the General managed to get him a research paper on experimental technology which would allow to use a phone without a wire connected." He grinned, but Breda didn't return his smile.

"You know, you are right, it doesn't add up." Breda shifted on the bench, moving a little further away and Havoc had to use his hands to keep his balance. "Mustang doesn't sound like someone who has given up his goal. If anything, he seems just as ambitious as ever." His voice trailed away, and for a while, they both stared at the passing landscape, lost in thoughts, until Breda again broke the silence. "Did you read those files that Lieutenant Ross copied?" His voice sounded so quiet that even this close, Havoc had to make an effort to hear him.

"I did." He answered as quietly. They had paid for a private coupé, but still, these were matters they would not lightly discuss in public. "Though not all of them. There were some parts…."

"I know. Hard to imagine that people could be so cruel." Breda's frown deepened as he continued, "you know, I thought I knew Mustang, but I was wrong."

Havoc shook his head. "Why would you say that?"

Breda leant his head back against the bench and stared at the ceiling of the train. When he spoke, he sounded bitter. "Come on Havoc, for all these years we were arrogant enough to think that we were aware of what had happened there in Ishval. We had read the newspapers, we heard the radio news, we listened to the lectures in the academy explaining us the tactical moves of the Amestrian army. You too have seen the haunted look in Hawkeye's eyes when she returned to the academy for her graduation, and we thought we understood it all. Still, I must now confess, I did not. The things _he_ has done go far beyond the normal actions of a soldier in combat…"

Havoc shifted in his seat, so that he could see Breda's face again. "We have fooled ourselves, Breda. The boss never tried to hide this, on the contrary, he tried to tell us again and again. We just didn't listen." He hesitated for a moment, "You know, reading those reports made me appreciate him all the more. I was in quite a few field ops with him, and in the beginning, I wondered. The Hero of Ishval unable to kill a terrorist with one strike? It seemed to me that he had lost his edge. In reality, he was never more focussed, never more aware of what he was doing than in those instances. He left his enemies incapacitated, but no more than was necessary. If you compare that to what he is truly capable of, he must have showed a great deal of restraint."

"I might have suspected some of it, but I had always thought that he would have stayed far from the atrocities that men like Kimbley had wrought there. It's just… He's no better, Havoc! He's no better than any of them." Breda looked more serious than Havoc had ever known him to be. He was right in a sense. Havoc could not deny that Mustang had done some horrible things in the past. However anyone could see how he had tried to redeem himself every day, every minute since, and that had to count for something, or at least it mattered to him.

"No. I don't think that that is true. At the most those reports prove that he is human, and made some mistakes." He hesitated; it was not that he had not struggled with this too. There was one big advantage though about being stuck in a revalidation centre for most of his days. It gave him plenty of time to think, and he had thought about this conundrum abundantly these last few days. "I still think we cannot truly understand. Those reports, they were not very objective. They consisted of some Ishvalan survivors' verbatims, without any comments. We do not know what happened there _before_ those people got hurt. We do not know what the orders were that the boss received at that time. From the military's side, we only have heard the tiniest amount of information which the Lieutenant has shared with us, and the official reports which were pure propaganda."

"We probably could have asked a few others." Breda said with a grim expression. "But I don't think any of them is inclined to talk about what happened there. Or can you imagine asking Knockx or Marcoh about their own time in Ishval?"

"No, no I can't." Havoc sighed. "But I think I would have risked asking Brigadier General Hughes, should he be still alive. I think he alone might have been able to shed a light on how it truly was out there. In any case, we weren't there, Heymans. The country was in danger, many civilians died on the Amestrian side too. Who knows how _we_ would have acted, who knows what _we_ would have done had we been but a few years older at the time? Remember the reverence with which the men that served the boss in Ishval spoke about him? How loyal they were? Hell, they even came back to fight for him, while they did not even know the true reason of why he needed their support, just because it was him asking! We weren't there, and we probably will have to accept that we will never truly understand. I do not think he is the same as Kimbley. Even at the time, I am convinced that the boss knew well enough that what he was doing was wrong…"

"But he did it anyway." It sounded harsh, but when he looked at Breda, he saw that his friend was as lost as he was.

"He did it anyway…" Havoc took a deep breath. "and because of that, and because of how he has acted in all these years that I have served him, I know that he will never make the same mistake again. It is why I will continue to support him. He knows what war is like, he knows how it can corrupt good men and women. If he is in charge, he will never ever let us walk into that trap again. He will do anything to avoid history from repeating itself, and should war become unavoidable, he will at least act with all of this in the back of his mind. I still trust him Breda, regardless of what he has done."

His friend huffed. "So do I. I would follow him to the end of the world and back, if I had to, and I don't know what that says about me."

Havoc could not hold back a smirk as things became clear to him. "It tells me you care more for him than you would ever want to admit. Just like the boss cares for us all." He poked his friend with his elbow, but just at that time the train hit an unevenness in the tracks and he toppled over, almost landing on Breda's lap. He could not hold back his laughter then, and after a moments hesitation, Breda joined in, slapping his arm while his friend pushed him back into a sitting position.

"We are such fools, Jean. Why on earth did we entwine our fate with that stubborn Lieutenant Colonel so many years ago?"

"Because, despite all he has done, and all he pretends to be, he shows us how we can be part of a brighter future. Isn't that what you wanted too, Heymans?" Jean smirked at his friend. "I remember a young soldier in the academy who tutored me, because I had failed yet another test. He was bored with explaining me the basics of tactics and told me about the treatises that he had studied. It was he who told me that all strategic plans were worthless when the troops failed to put their trust in their commander, that a charismatic figure was essential if one wanted to win."

"So from all the stuff I tried to cram in that hard head of yours, _that _is what you remembered?" Breda gruffly said. "I understand now, why you barely passed that course, despite all my best efforts."

Havoc stared outside once again. "Mustang is that person, Breda, you know it as well as I do. Whatever his plans are, we cannot allow him to stop aiming for the top now. We promised we would have his back no matter what, and he needs us now more than ever."


	13. 13 - Confrontation (Riza)

Riza felt her heart bounce in her chest as she walked through the familiar hallways of the East City headquarters. She had received an official summons from Brigadier General Mustang to be present in his office at nine. She had read and re-read the note again and again, but there was nothing to be learned from the dry sentences that he had scribbled down. He had even signed them and added his official stamp. He had never done that before, not with her, not in all those years. He knew she would come on his simple request, that this was not needed at all.

She wouldn't be so worried had he not acted so strangely since Daliha. All the way back, he had avoided her. He hadn't even met her regard. It was as if he had closed himself off completely, and she wasn't the only one to notice. She had heard the soldiers that served as his bodyguard whisper in the evening, speculating about what had happened to the General when he had ordered them to stay behind. She didn't join their conversations, and she simply didn't dare ask Roy why he acted as he did. Whenever she saw him disappear in his tent in the evenings, she longed to go after him, but she feared she would only make things worse.

Yesterday, when they had arrived back in the city, she had nearly gone to his apartment, if only to chide him for so blatantly ignoring his responsibilities. He had left without as much as a goodbye, and while she knew that he had called Major Miles only a day before, everyone had been surprised that the General hadn't even bothered to enter the Eastern headquarters upon his return. His thoughts clearly were someplace else, though no one knew where.

All night she had lain awake, wondering if her suspicions might be true after all. Was he preparing his own trial? Was he going to stage his downfall? If he was, it made sense that he would keep her at a distance. She knew him well enough to know that he would not want to hurt her. She also knew that he would fail. After all those years, she had thought he had understood that part. She would not know how to survive without him.

Riza took a deep steadying breath and straightened her back as she entered the office at 08:59, always a little early.

What she found, wasn't what she had expected at all.

Roy stood behind his desk and was staring fiercely at the three men already present. Major Miles stood on one side, face perfectly unmoved and his red eyes hidden behind his sunglasses. In the sofa, Havoc sat with one leg dangling over the armrest, and Breda stood right behind him, with a smirk on his face. It occurred to her that Heymans looked very tired. He and Havoc must have come on the late train from Central, otherwise she would have known of their arrival. Silently she went to stand next to him.

"Lieutenant Hawkeye reporting as you requested, _sir._" She probably sounded stricter than was necessary.

"Very well." He must have heard her rebuke of how he had summoned her, but somehow he managed to ignore it. He just looked at them, and she couldn't be sure what to read in his face. Fear, despair, anger, who knew? Perhaps even amusement. He had become a master in guarding his feelings.

When he spoke, his tone was cold as ice. "So. Now that I have you all here together, the four of you might care to explain to me why General Armstrong sent me a message that said – and I quote - 'I always knew you would give up, you weakling'? Or perhaps you can tell me why I had a telegram from Fuery requesting to call him, only to get put through to the Western headquarters where a livid Fullmetal ranted that he was still in my debt and that I could not give up if I ever wanted to see my money back?" He paused a moment and drummed his fingers on his desk, "Not to mention the official missive that I received from Xing, where the Emperor himself declared that if I would no longer be in charge of the Eastern trade routes, he would blow up all diplomatic relations with Amestris?"

Riza saw her neighbour wince, and Roy, always sensitive for the slightest sign of weakness, immediately turned his attention to him.

"Breda." It wasn't a question, it wasn't an order. It was a clear threat.

Her respect for her friend increased by the second when Heymans did not even flinch under that scrutinising glare. Instead he innocently replied, "So Doctor Knox didn't write, sir?'

For one brief moment, she saw a deep sadness cross Roy's face. It must be that the doctor had written indeed. If his reaction was any indication, it had probably been one of the most impactful letters. They went back a long time, Knox and Roy, and they had been plagued by the same guilt for nearly a decade. If anyone would know how to motivate him to stay alive, it would be Knox.

She could see how Roy forced himself to stay calm, and when he answered, he did so in a much quieter tone. "That is none of your business. You are meddling with things you do not understand."

"Then explain them to us, boss." It was Havoc this time, who dared interfere. "We have indeed been making inquiries without truly understanding what we were messing with, but what else did you expect us to do when _you_ are not telling us anything?"

Riza held her breath. This was one bold move indeed.

Roy stared at Jean as if he saw him again for the first time. "Is that so? What would you like me to explain?"

Jean pushed himself to his feet and straightened his back. Something that once had been easy, but now clearly cost him a lot of effort. "Explain to us why you are so determined to face your past now of all times, why you are looking into the details of the Ishvalan war again. We are not blind, boss. You weren't even happy when you were promoted Brigadier General, and your ambitions have all but died recently. All we see you do is wallow in the past."

Next to her, Breda made a strangled noise, and even Riza felt all blood drain from her face. This was no bold move. Knowing Roy, this was suicide.

Sure enough the General narrowed his eyes, his answer deceivingly calm. "You are an ignorant fool. You have no idea of what happened there."

"Boss, we do know." Havoc's voice sounded almost too soft to hear, but he did not whither under his superior's stare.

"No you don't. you don't have the slightest idea." Roy landed his flat hands on the table, and there was a fury there that even Riza had not often seen before. "Lieutenant Hawkeye was there too, but even she was shocked when she was forced to face the true extent of my deeds last week. Ask her. Ask her what a monster I am, and then walk away, as I'm sure she wants to do ever since I showed her the truth." He looked at her, and she read his message clear enough in that moment. He meant what he had said.

Riza was too dumbstruck to even react. Was this what he had been worried about? Did he really think that she would leave him? Had he really believed that this was the first time that she had learned what he had done?

Havoc did not stop though. "Boss_ we do know_. We were worried and had Maria Ross check if, if… It doesn't really matter… But she couldn't tell us anything except for which files Major Miles had requested from Central for your review. Sheska copied them for us and passed them on to Breda and me. We both read what happened. I agree we should have asked your permission to do so, but to be honest, we weren't too sure you would give it, and we weren't going to have no for an answer, not now." Havoc defiantly stared at his former superior. "Regardless, you should know by now that we wouldn't abandon you because of something that happened so long ago."

"He's right." Breda gruffly threw in. "We've had a hearty discussion or two on the content of those reports, but we concluded that we would keep following you regardless. So you'd better tell us what you are doing, so we can help you."

Roy raised an eyebrow. "What exactly did you think I was planning?" It did not escape Riza that he hadn't replied to their question.

Miles stared at the ceiling, while Breda and Havoc hesitantly looked at each other and Riza sighed. "We feared you were going to get yourself court martialled, sir." She spoke softly, and wasn't sure he had heard her. "We thought you were preparing for your own trial."

For a long moment Roy did not react, then his shoulders sagged, and he sat himself down in his large chair, leaning his elbows on his table, hands folded so they could hardly see his face. It took him another minute to answer, a minute in which the others too tried to hide their discomfort.

"I guess Lieutenant Ross indeed must have been of great help." He stared at Havoc, who had the decency to blush. "And you Breda, you must have been behind all those phone calls and letters. I assume that they were meant to tell me not to give up?" Breda too had to avert his eyes. "Miles. Were you in this too?"

"We were worried for the Ishvalan project sir." Miles was a master in keeping his countenance even, but for reasons she could not yet fathom Riza could not help but think that he had some difficulty to keep a smug smile off his face.

"And you, Lieutenant." He did not say more, and she looked up and met his regard, and this time he did not turn away, and she understood his message as clearly as if it had been spoken aloud. He was disappointed with her, not because she had tried to save him, but because she had even dared think that he would ever hurt her so.

"Aye sir. I was determined not to let such a thing happen. Better safe than sorry."

"Very well. I find it appalling that you all have so little faith in me." He turned his chair to the window so that they only saw his back. An uncomfortable pause fell.

Roy's voice sounded harsh when he continued. "I will not deny that there are quite a few demons in my past. It is not something I have ever hidden. Nor did I ever make a secret out of my ambitions. Still, I made a promise that was ever more important than that goal." He swirled his chair around, facing them once again and counted on his fingers. "Actually I made three promises. I promised to become the Fuhrer of this country. I promised go further than anyone before, to turn this country into a real democracy again. I promised to let justice run its course regardless of the consequences for my own person. I did not say in which order I would fulfil those promises."

He paused a moment, and Riza could feel the tension in Breda next to her.

"But I do plan to accomplish all of those goals, and never have I lost sight on _why_ I want to do all those things. Lieutenant. I'm sure you remember. Tell them again what I told you all when I asked you to join me to Central. Tell them what I told you after Ishval, the very first time I told you of how I planned to realise my dream." His piercing regard held nothing but determination, and for once, it was she who had to lower her eyes.

She straightened her back and dug the words out of her memory. "You said that you promised to protect our lives as your subordinates, and asked from us only to protect those whom we could, even if it were only a few."

"You're forgetting a part." It sounded no louder than a whisper, and she knew then what he had meant.

"No matter what happens. Live. Continue to survive. Live." She too could only whisper, as the words came back to her. What a fool she had been. She should have remembered.

"Live." He closed his eyes again and leant back in his chair. "I am not preparing my trial. I am not trying to escape my duties by cowardly giving up. I am trying to make sure that if I ever reach my goal, the people will know whom I truly am, what I have truly done. There can be no secrets in my past." Roy stood up and walked towards Jean, as calm now as ever. He took his friend's hands between his own and quietly said, "Sit down, Havoc. You must be fatigued. You shouldn't even be here. Your revalidation is far more important than all of this." Jean sank down without a word, and Roy turned to Breda. "As for you, next time, you just ask, instead of being a smart ass with a strategic plan. You might be able to beat me at chess, but this is a wholly different game." Heymans smiled, and Riza could see his shoulders relax. He had been forgiven.

"Miles." The Major saluted sharply, which made Roy smile a half-hearted smile. "Thank you." He did not say for what, but it seemed Miles understood, as he nodded and left the room without further ado.

"Can I have a word alone with the Lieutenant please?" She had expected it, still she tensed while Jean shuffled out, and Breda gave her an encouraging squeeze in the arm as he passed by. The doors fell close and only the two of them were left in the room.

Roy's shoulders sagged as soon as they were all out. With a sigh he dropped down in the sofa and patted the spot next to him, inviting her to sit down. She shook her head and instead walked over to the other side so she could face him. It wouldn't do if they got too familiar.

"I never dared hope that they would decide to stay after they knew the truth. How can they know what man I am and still chose me?" He paused a moment and stared up until his eyes met her own. "How can _you_ still chose me, knowing who I am, knowing what I have done? Knowing how I used the knowledge that you shared with me in good faith? After how I betrayed you and your father both?"

Riza stared out of the window, and sought for the right words. "Breda told me a while ago that I was a fool. Not because of what I had done in the war, but because I still believed that I was the only one responsible for the consequences of my deeds. He made me see that while there is no denying that I could have left, that I could have walked out and deserted, there was a force greater than myself that kept me there, killing people." She took a deep breath. "He thought that it was because I was a mere cadet, forced by her superiors. You and I both know that it was because I had friends whom I wanted to protect."

"We fought because we didn't want to die." Roy murmured.

"And because we didn't want our friends to die." She answered as quietly. "Remember how Armstrong told us that he had always regretted leaving, that he hadn't been able to do more for his companions? You would never ever have forgiven yourself if you had done the same, if our comrades would have died because of your choices. Yes, you have killed many, but you have saved many too, do not forget that. I will not leave. I will stand behind you, sir. Until the very end."

She carefully sat herself down on the chair opposite of him. So close, she could see his face a whole lot better than before ,and she thought he looked vulnerable somehow. There were black circles around his eyes, and his cheeks were hollow. He probably had not slept or eaten much since they had visited the village.

"So you will not run away after all." It wasn't a question anymore, and for that she was grateful.

"I have known the extent of your deeds for a while, sir." When she saw his surprise, she continued, "I know you have never talked to me as you have talked to Brigadier General Hughes, but he made sure I knew all I had to know. He asked me to help him."

"Help him with what?"

"Keeping you alive, sir." She stared at the wall. She could not meet his eyes, not now. All the fear she had felt in these last weeks, all the worries, the stress, washed over her when she spoke those words. "Can I be excused now?"

"No." The answer was unexpected, and she did meet Roy's gaze again.

"I owe you an apology, Lieutenant. There have been plenty of occasions in which you have proven that you indeed always have my back. I was a fool to even consider that you would leave. I would understand if you are too disappointed in me to continue working with me." He looked very serious, and what bothered her the most was that there was a tone of tired acceptance in his voice.

"Out of the question, sir. There is no one else who can keep you on the right track." She smiled when she said it, and was rewarded with a small smile in return.

"Dismissed, Lieutenant."

She saluted, and walked out of the door without looking back. Once outside, she leant her head against the wall, and wiped an obnoxious tear from the corner of her eye. He was going to be all right, he was not going to get himself killed. He had been doing this with a clear purpose in mind. All would be well.


	14. Epilogue

Roy sat at the counter of Madame's bar, and stared at his lukewarm beer. Jennifer would come to exchange it for a fresh one any minute now. He didn't wait for her but downed the pint in one go. Screw the nightmares. Nowadays they would come regardless of how much alcohol he consumed.

It was very late, or very early, depending on your point of view, and he was nearly alone in the bar. Most clients had either picked a girl and gone to their accommodation for the night, or they had left. The only other guests were two middle aged men who were intensely discussing the political situation of Amestris and the peace talks with Aerugo. They were oblivious to his presence. A lone man at the counter was nothing unusual here.

Roy took his jacket from the barstool next to him and fumbled in his pocket until he found the letter that he had kept there ever since he had come back to Central.

He turned it over and over in his hands, and barely noticed that Madame had approached with a fresh drink. When she put it down before him, he noticed it looked suspiciously like water and stared up, his confusion probably clear at the dubious choice of his aunt.

"Royboy, shouldn't you be heading home? You look bone tired."

"Do I now?" He put his hand over the letter - and its Central Hospital logo - and smiled his famous smile. As usual, she was not fooled.

Madame rose her eyebrow, "Did you get into a fight with Elisabeth? I haven't seen you this downtrodden since she was with that other man?"

Roy didn't answer but instead took his glass and took a large swig of the water.

"Careful with that." His foster mother said with a grin as he almost spit the clear liquid out again.

He coughed hard and found his breath back after a few difficult seconds. "You could have told me that this was gin!"

"You looked like you could use it." She drily answered. "Besides, if you didn't even smell the alcohol, you're in worse shape than I'd already thought."

Faintly he smiled again, now far more genuinely. "Thank you."

She nodded towards the letter that still lay on the counter. "Is that the reason why you are so distressed? Anyone sick?"

He shook his head. "Just an old friend that wrote. Dragged up some memories. I'm fine."

Madame took her towel and moved a few paces away, while she slowly began to dry some freshly washed glasses. She did not reply, but Roy knew that she did not believe him as well as she knew that he didn't want to talk about it.

Carefully he took the letter out of its envelope, unfolded it and flattened the creases in the paper.

He hadn't told his friends how awfully close to the truth they had gotten when they had assumed that he was planning for his own trial. Only a few months ago, it had taken Grumman the better part of a week to convince him to abandon that particular plan.

Roy had only conceded after the Fuhrer had threatened to tell Madame. He had thought about the consequences and then had decided to make his deeds public, something Grumman _did_ approve of. He was of the opinion that it wouldn't harm his youngest General's reputation, that it would only strengthen Roy's hold on the East if he publicly admitted to his deeds and showed how he regretted them. He had agreed because there was no alternative, but deep inside, he had felt like a fraud.

Still his trip to Ishval had been beneficial indeed. As usual, his mentor had been right. It had been a surprise to find that not all Ishvalans wished him dead. Gary had made him promise to come back and restore the country, something he wouldn't have refused the maimed man, even if he hadn't made the same promise years ago to Marcoh.

His eyes dwelt on the first few sentences of the letter again. He squeezed the bridge of his nose. Madame was right, he was indeed tired. The almost illegible writing of Knox had always been hard to decipher and now the doctor had filled the better part of three pages with his crabby script, describing his experiences of the last two years. Apparently he had found it difficult to figure out where he fit in after Ishval and had pushed his family away in the process. He had even given up his profession and had gone to work for the mortuary instead. These facts Roy had already known. He had also known Knox had suffered. It would have been hard not to notice how empty his eyes were, how mechanically he did his job.

However, he had never suspected that the doctor had been so close to giving up. In his letter Knox had described how he had believed that a monster like him was no longer worthy of his child's love, how he had forbidden his own son to come near him, because he wanted him to become a better man than he had ever been. And what he certainly hadn't known was that by getting Knox to treat the Xinghese girl, it had been he, Roy Mustang, who had helped the doctor find hope again. Apparently Lan Fan had been the first living patient Knox had seen since Ishval and Knox had abundantly described how saving her had made him feel like a doctor again, rather than a butcher. Because of him, his war-time comrade had found a part of himself again that he had thought long-lost. He had even carefully restored the contact with his wife and son.

Scar's letter, though very different in content, had conveyed roughly the same message. The Grand Cleric had very factually described the advancements that had been made in the last two years. He had spent most of his short letter on a dry summary of the road works that were being carried out near the Xinghese border. They were part of their ambitious plan to open the trade routes via Ishval, but Roy had wondered why Scar had focused on this particular achievement. Then he had remembered that the significant amount of personal funds that he had donated to the Ishvalan church after the Promised Day, had been used for repairing those exact same roads.

Both had tried to tell him that he had made a difference.

Still he wondered, had it been enough?

He shoved the barstool back, ignoring the half glass of gin that still rested on the counter and waved his aunt goodbye.

In the dark, he made his way to his car. He hesitated a moment and then decided to walk. He had had quite a few drinks, and the fresh air might clear his head. Not that he expected to sleep.

His feet found their way, and it wasn't home that they were heading. When he reached the silent graveyard, he was surprised to see a car in front of the gate. Someone else must have been looking for the nearness of a lost loved one.

He strolled calmly towards Hughes' grave, but froze as soon as he saw another person standing there.

Her slender figure was all too familiar, and he turned around, ready to leave.

"Sir."

She had spoken softly, but he couldn't ignore her, and hesitantly he went towards her. "Captain."

Riza grimaced, "I'm still not used to that title."

"What are you doing here? Shouldn't you be sleeping?"

She did not answer, but stared at the familiar headstone instead. "I was wondering… What would he have said when I would have told him of my worries? Instead of Breda? Would he have made as much of a fuss?" Her voice trailed away and she turned to him again. "I'm sorry sir, I shouldn't have involved the others. I was worried…"

Roy smiled sadly, "Captain, he wouldn't have said anything. He would have stormed into my office and grabbed me by the collar. We would have ended up in a bar, and he would have talked and talked, boasting about Gracia and Elicia, and I would have listened to his meaningless rambling and still I would have understood that he was worried about me." He had to take a deep breath to steady himself before he could continue. "I'm the one who has to apologise. You certainly deserved a better explanation on why I was acting as I did than you got."

She stepped a little closer, and he could see her face in the faint light of the street lanterns that lit the graveyard. He had to restrain himself not to put a hand to her cheek, to pull her into his arms. It was a comfort they both knew they did not deserve.

"Sir, about what happened at the train station…" Her hesitation was almost palpable and he felt his muscles tense. "I think you need someone to talk to, sir."

"I had hoped you had forgotten about that." He murmured, and dug his hands into his pockets to hide their trembling. "It was nothing, Captain."

"Nothing, sir." Somehow she managed to let it sound as an accusation, rather than the confirmation it should have been.

Roy sighed, "It has been years since I last had such an episode, Captain. Talking to him will do." He gestured at the bleak grey headstone before them.

She hesitated, as if she wanted to say more, but then nodded. "Very well, sir. Now let's go home, it's getting cold."

He shrugged off his long black coat and draped it over her shoulders as they walked to the gate, side by side. Something else came to his mind, something that she had not asked, but he suspected she had wanted to regardless. "Do you know why I was not as happy as I should have been when I was promoted Brigadier General?"

"No sir."

He had stopped in the midst of his tracks. "I was his equal again, and it occurred to me that while I might continue to work towards my goal, his rank would forever remain the same." He refused to look at her, but stared at the metal gateway before him instead. "Lately there have been quite a few people who have told me that I couldn't give up, who have proven that they are loyal to me even if they know what a monster I can be at times. I think I needed that reminder. Thank you for that, Lieu.. Captain." He briskly walked on, knowing that she would follow. When they reached her car, and she gestured for him to get in, he shook his head. "I will walk home. I need to clear my mind."

She looked at him, and he was relieved to find that he could read her understanding in those big brown eyes again. What a fool he had been, hiding from her. As if she didn't know him better than anyone else. He held her door open for her, and almost as an afterthought posed the question that had been on his mind for days now. "Do you think Hughes would have approved of what I did these last weeks? Or would he have called me an idiot?"

She softly laid her hand on his lower arm in a rare comforting gesture, "Of course he would have called you an idiot. He always did that when you put yourself in danger. But secretly, he would have approved, of that I'm sure, sir."

He nodded, and sunken in thoughts he made his way back to his house. Her car came up behind him, but instead of passing him by, she slowed down and lowered her window. Surprised, he stopped in his tracks.

"I just wanted to say, sir. You are indeed an idiot, but facing the past like you did, that was a brave thing to do. I approve too." She turned up the window again, hit the gas pedal, and left him standing there, dumbstruck.

He stared after her. Slowly a foolish grin appeared on his face, and he continued his walk in a far better mood than he had been for months.


End file.
